Elisha's Snips & Clips

A few month's ago, my fearless friend Elisha became the proprietor of a hair salon in Pike, New York. Today, I arrogantly thought I'd throw "Elisha's Snips & Clips" a little bit of my valuable business; you know, just to get her started. After a near-death collision on the way, I stumbled into her shop and was startled to see it was standing room only. "Amy," Elisha greeted me, "aren't you meeting Cathy for lunch today?" I stared at her in surprised silence. How on earth did she know that? Was my bra size also public knowledge? No, I reassured myself, I routinely lie about that little tidbit.

Room was made for me and, as I sank into a comfy chair, I suddenly realized that I wasn't in "Elisha's Snips & Clips" of Pike, New York. I was in "Floyd's Barber Shop," Mayberry USA. I was emotionally affirmed by the crowd of soon-to-be-clipped clients as I shared how I, as a result of my usual bad driving practices, had come upon a stop sign too quickly. Another vehicle, turning left toward me, paused next to me to glare. I immediately reciprocated with a heartfelt wave of apology before taking in (a) the fact that he had cut his turn short into my lane and (b) he had his little dog on his lap. I don't judge him for either violation as I have been routinely guilty of both but I was irked about his irritation with me. "Finally, in my forties, I've stopped caring what other people think," I concluded victoriously while my new emotional support group cheered before sharing their own traffic-related stories.

I was introduced to a colleague's grandparents-in-law who inquired about the teacher who was assigned to their grandson. I sang her virtues as both an educator and a person. "She's fearless," I bragged, "and embraces life. She rides motorcycles and took up bow hunting." Intrigued, a man in the chair asked if she was married. "Not for a lack of suitors," I informed him. "Is she a young woman," another eligible man asked. I began thinking that perhaps Elisha should start a side business here. "Yes," I answered, "she's about my age." This was met with awkward silence. "Young," I stated, unhappy to have to force them to agree with me.

I compared dachshund ramps with one client. Learned that there are people in the world, who, for some inexplicable reason, want used slabs of concrete. Lamented that the traffic lights in Batavia are frustratingly timed so that you hit every red signal. And I was warned that the road leading to the Glen Iris was being repaired and, given my driving ability, I should be extra careful. I finally made it to the chair and happily caught up on Elisha's life while she tamed my tresses. "Tell Cathy I said hey," she smiled, whipping off my little hair bib and sending me on my way. I hated to go. There's just something so warm and real about a small town salon.