dear diary – part 7

As promised in the last “dear diary” post, DD has returned in the new year. (Admittedly the last DD post was written in 2012. Oh well.) Jumping in where we left off in part 6, it’s still 1981 and I’m still eleven. Prepare to be underwhelmed.

I went to the hairdressers today. Debbie cut my hair. She is nice. She talks to you and she even told me her second name; Denice. She has to remember my name!! (B+)
(This must have been my first visit to this particular hairdresser. The salon was in the old Westfield, just down from Best & Less. I do remember Debbie – classic 80s shiny bob, and matching shiny eye makeup. I thought she was very cool. We bonded somewhere between the first snip of the scissors and final squirt of hairspray. At least, I thought we did. But 30 years later, I can see that remembering a client’s name is just good customer service.)

The next diary entry should be 31 July, but to illustrate the depth of the bond that existed between myself and Debbie, and our meaningful conversations, we’re skipping ahead. Think of it as a belated Christmas present.

I went to the hairdressers today. Debbie is nice with a capital N. She had thirteen warts removed from her hand recently. They were so small I couldn’t see them. (B+)
(See? Super BFFs. I went to that salon for ages and was devastated when Debbie left. I don’t remember saying good-bye. So sad. Pretty sure this is where my abandonment issues with hairdressers began. It’s all your fault Wart Woman! ALL. YOUR. FAULT. I miss you.)

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