The first haircut. . .

Normally not a big deal, but when you don't speak much Spanish, there's a certain amount of trepidation that goes along with getting the locks shorn. Lucy, being the excellent Spanish speaker and fine wife that she is, abandoned me to go to the bank, leaving me in the hands of an elderly gentleman and his clippers and scissors. I can say "poquito" which means little, and I pointed to the top of my head and said just that, hoping he would get the hint that I just wanted a bit cut off and not taken down all the way to the scalp. Fortunately, he got the message and did an excellent job (he even trimmed my bushy eyebrows, which was a first). Normally, I don't put anything in the 'do, preferring to go natural. This time, though, I thought he asked me if I was happy with the haircut and I said "Si!" Actually, he was asking if I wanted goop in my hair, so I got a headfull of something or other that left my hair a bit on the spiky side. Luckily, I had a hat to beat it back into submission. No pictures of this jaunt, which is a good thing, as unless my mug is surrounded by rain forest, critters or volcanoes, it just ain't worth looking at.