Most of us are now are feeling somewhat bewildered by the passage of time. Which day of the week is it, anyway? The hours slip through our fingers, and we wonder what we got accomplished. And yet, it feels like we’ve been in this lockdown forever – so long, that it is now the new normal.
One way to measure the passage of time is by looking at our hair (if we have some left to look at.) I’d rather not, actually, but there it is, in the mirror every morning, sticking out all over. And I’m not the only with hair issues. Just look at the news anchors on TV, and even our own PM, brushing his lovely locks to the side or tossing his mane impatiently when it blows into his eyes.
Yesterday, I cut the Resident Sweetie’s hair. He doesn’t have a whole lot of hair to swing around anymore, but what there is needs regular trims. I’ve been his “resident barber” since early in our marriage, except for a hiatus when I went on strike and refused to cut his hair ever again. This was because, whenever I mentioned that he needed a haircut, he ignored me until even he noticed that he needed a haircut. In the meantime, I had to keep looking at him. So I told him, “Fine, I quit.” But then I didn’t like the way the barber cut his hair either. It was not a win-win situation. It was an impasse, and I had to give in. Since then, we’ve been muddling along, sometimes the barber, sometimes me, but always at a time of his choosing after I’ve bugged him for a few weeks, when people are beginning to wonder if he’s a street person. (I exaggerate, of course.)
We’ve both been pretty shaggy lately, but then, so is pretty well everyone else. We’re in this boat together. So I did not mention his hair – and he didn’t mention mine. And then, it happened: he asked me to cut his hair without any “suggestions” on my part. Covid had brought him to this.
Now he looks good, and I don’t. Life’s not fair, is it?
May 13: I was feeling pretty good about that lighthearted little observation yesterday. Then this appeared on Face Book.
It puts a whole new spin on the phrase, “Life’s not fair.”
People are toting their guns to the legislatures protesting that the lockdown has deprived them of their rights. I saw a sign that said, “We demand to have communion at church." Really? Really???? Life’s not fair, they say. But they can’t pick up signs to picket for clean water for the children in Flint, whose life expectancy is much lower than other children. And that’s fair?
Is it okay for me to be mad about this? I am.
But as the saying goes, when you point a finger at someone else, there are four fingers pointing back at you.
I want to protest my innocence in this, but find I am speechless.
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