If you are a seasonal allergy sufferer, you will understand that I am in a special kind of hell. It is spring. There is dust from the many unpaved streets and sections of sidewalk. There are seemingly lax controls on auto emissions. And apparently there is volcanic ash floating around. I am waiting, rednosed and fearful of running out of tissues that are not really gentle, for Pete to come home with an antihistamine.
This afternoon I came home to our tiny, dusty apartment and couldn’t bear the thought of just hanging out. So I made Lou come with me to find the shopping mall I’d heard about and, impetuously, decided to get a haircut along the way.
The haircut looks fine, but it was carried out entirely with a razor, which surprised me. I think I disappointed my stylist by not confidently or enthusiastically praising his work. And it just occurred to me that I didn’t leave a tip, although I don’t know if I was supposed to tip.
The shopping mall had clothing stores and a movie theater and a fast-food place called Mamadera with a baby bottle for a logo. Clothing here is expensive, so I am glad we risked overpacking and won’t need to buy anything.