Day 736 Displacement

We had a terrible night’s sleep.  For some reason Dan was unsettled and kept getting up, and consequently I kept getting woken up.  Today’s plans were simple: buy new bathers and get hair cut before Ur & Is’s PPPP tonight.  We also have a few apartment viewings booked today; we move out of the place next week and real estate agents are showing prospective tenants around.  Dan, of course, has tidied up the apartment.

We cycled down to the Eaton Centre to go to Abercrombie & Fitch when it opened at 09:30, which it didn’t.  We waited outside like gormless tourists, who had risen before the city wakes, wandering about waiting for something to do.  Ur & Is had given me a voucher for my birthday, a few months ago now, and I finally redeemed it for new swim trunks for tonight’s pool party.  Everything was on sale, so Dan got new swim trunks too, and we bought some undies. We cycled home, via Loblaws, where I bought tomatoes and bread and crumpets.  I needed sliced tomatoes with cracked pepper and salt on hot buttered toast after watching that play last night.


Julian drove us to Queen St West to Steve Pella Hair, Dan & Julian have both been trekking out West to get their hair cut by Steve, an inked hair wizard who was welcoming and very focused on his work.  I always dread having my hair cut; even when I show a photo of what I previously had done that I wanted done again I never seem to be able to speak the same language as the person cutting my hair.  I either come out feeling like a sheep, shawn bare at the beginning of summer, or confused how my request, “Short back and sides and half the length at the top, please!” became a pineapple shape of my Eurasian gold-brown hair.

Steve actually listened to my requests and then negotiated his own suggestion.  I cautiously sat back and hoped I’d made the right decision; I’ve been growing the top long for the past few months until Rahul commented that I was becoming a hipster.  A hipster!  Of all things!

I can never see what is happening when my hair is being cut and it stresses me out; I’m short sighted and my glasses sit uselessly on the bench in front of me.  Steve chatted intermittently but thankfully was mostly silent, in the zone, which I appreciated as concentrating on his job.  I find it odd when I go to scan patients and I am quietly concentrating and they decide it’s a good time to strike up a conversation.  It’s not.  I’m working.  Steve exclaimed, “You’re going to love this.  You’re hair is listening.”  I was glad he’d felt he’d found communication with the hair he was violently hacking off my head, alternating between furious scissor snipping and razor-blading.  Half-way through he got me up to the sink to quickly wash the remaining hair, before carefully working on it more.  I’ve never had somebody pay so much attention to cutting my hair, other than my Mum and Aunt when I was little and wriggling and threatened with losing an ear if I didn’t keep still.

Dan smiled.  Julian checked his phone.  Steve did a good job and I sighed.  Why couldn’t we have found him 2 years ago when we’d arrived, not 2 weeks before we fly back to Australia?





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