Thursday, February 13, 2014

What happens when you don't speak Italian...

I got my hair cut yesterday. That's where I was going when I ran into the sheep herd (see Sheep in the road).

Today, I was getting ready for work today and I got a really good look at myself.

My hair is way too short.
In fact, I need to go on a hair cut diet and wait about 10 weeks before I go again. My hair is shorter than some of the young soldier's hair that I see in my office. My hair is so short it looks like my Grandpa's 1970s hairdo.

It's my fault, I will say in my hairdresser's defense. As I plopped myself in her chair and started yacking, I gave no indication of what I wanted except "the regular".

I love my hairdresser. She's an Italian woman who speaks fairly good English depending on the topic - hair, brows, beauty, kids, cooking... no problem. This time we got to chatting and got on the topic of the flooding that's been going on around the Veneto region. We were talking culverts, drainage pipes etc. I really had to concentrate to figure out what she was saying because instead of using the word she has to explain her meaning until I have a word epiphany...

 "Oh you mean culvert!!!" and she says

 "Si, certo!!!!"

I need to learn to speak some more Italian.  It took all my attention away from what was happening with the scissors.

 Now I look like my grandpa did in the 1970s.

No wait! Actually, my hair is SHORTER! Definately on a haircut diet.

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