It was haircut time again and you know what that means. Time for another post of what happened. So I'm in the chair and we are talking about my hair...then we got on sizes of clothes.
"My sister wears a three," sighed Y. I quickly reassured her that three was not really a size.
"Well, only .5 percent of the population wears a size under five; I mean really." I lied. Or maybe fudged the truth a little...I don't know. I have a sister who wears a zero. I mean if you are wearing a zero you don't exist. Zero means nothing is there.
Now this is when it happened..I don't know if it was because I was slightly reclining in a leather chair. Maybe I thought it was a couch and she was my psychoanalyst. But I had this over whelming urge to confess what size I wore.
"I wear a ten. Since I was in middle school I have always worn a ten." said I.
She was behind me cutting my hair, but that stopped. Now she was in front of me with her scissors hanging in the air.
"WHAT! YOU WEAR A TEN! THAT'S UNBELIEVABLE! stated Y. (hence the capital letters)
It gets worse...
"It used to be a ten junior; but now I wear a ten missus." trying to clarify but rapidly realizing the hole was getting deeper.
"I COULD HAVE SWORN YOU WORE AN EIGHT!" said Y. Now that was nice, maybe it was a compliment and I could have said, "You are right...I do wear an eight." But no....
"No, never have worn anything less than a ten. I think it's my hips; my great grandfather was German and we call them the "Bowerman Hips". I can carry weight; a century ago I probably would have been in the fields with a couple of kids on my hips. Something wrapped around my head....I don't know."
She stood there a minute shaking her head, then went back to the haircut. There is just something about those chairs......
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