Shelby

It has been requested that I share, once again, my Shelby experience:

I needed a haircut.  The one that I had just given myself didn't turn out too well.  I went from having hair below my shoulders, to chopped hair that had a few stragglers at chin level and a bunch of whacked hair above my ears and some about an inch from my scalp.  It wasn't pretty.  The more hair I cut, the uglier it got.  I had to admit defeat and step away from the scissors.  I knew I needed a professional to clean up the mess I had made.

I remember hearing of a beautician that was really good, so I call and make an appointment.  Sadly, on the day of the appointment, I have to work late.  I call and reschedule---no biggie.

On the day of my rescheduled appointment, again, I couldn't make it, so I call and reschedule---a little biggie.

Well, on the day of my rescheduled, rescheduled appointment, I couldn't go---kind of a biggie.  I don't want to call and reschedule a third time, so . . . I do what any "abnormal" human does.  I stand her up---that's right---I stand her up.  That's a huge biggie.

The problem is that I still need a haircut---BADLY.  I think to myself, "Dare I call this hair stylist one more time?"  My answer is, "Are you crazy?"

What to do?  I still really need a haircut and believe this gal is the one to do it.  Because I had called and rescheduled, and resheduled, and stand her up, I'm afraid she won't take an appointment from me---LaRae.  All of a sudden, I get a brilliant idea!  Call and make an appointment under a pseudo name!

I call the salon and make an appointment for "Shelby."  I've always liked the name, "Shelby."  Shelby's appointment is the one I keep.

When I get to the salon on time, I meet the nicest beautician.  "Good thing she doesn't know I'm the one who kept canceling on her."  I say to myself.  "She'll never know that my real name is LaRae," I smuggly comfort my deception.

She sits me down, washes my hair and asks how I want my hair.

"Normal." I reply.

So, she starts cutting my hair and guess what she wants to talk about?  My name . . . er . . .um . . . a . . . my pseudo name---SHELBY!  She seems really intrigued by such a rare name.  She states, "You have the cutest name."

"Thank you," I play along.

Still intrigued, she asks, "How did your mother come up with that name?"

Without missing a beat I answer, "I don't know."

"That's such an unusual name!"  She continues.  "Have you had lots of compliments on it?"

Still showing how very gracious I am, I reply, "Oh yes, yes.  Everyone loves my name.  I love having Shelby as my name."

"Would you mind if I name my next girl Shelby?"  She's preggers, so she means, like in a couple of months.

"Not at all!  I would be honored,"  I proudly declare.  I actually start believing that my name IS Shelby as we continue to talk, then it hits me---I ONLY HAVE MY CHECKBOOK  (gasp)  I DON'T HAVE ANY CASH (gasp)  I'M GONNA HAVE TO A WRITE CHECK AND SIGN IT WITH MY REAL NAME---LARAE!  (gasp, choke, sputter).

"How the heck am I gonna get out of this one?"  I panic silently.  Beads of sweat gather at my forehead.  All I want to do now, is get the heck out of there.

The stylist continues to happily cut my hair while raving on about my pseudo name.  I'm thinking, "Just give it a rest lady and finish my hair!"

She finally whacks her last cut---it's cute---I don't care---I have to write a check.  (gulp)

She walks me up to the check-out counter.  On our way up to the counter, I look for an escape door.  There isn't one.  Crud.

We get to the counter and she tells me how much I owe her.  With my shaking hand, I somehow find my checkbook and hold a pen.  I hurry and scribble my name, hoping she won't notice my signature.

She does.

She says, "I thought your name was Shelby."

(Gulp)  With great beads of sweat now dripping off the end of my nose, I stutter, "It it is.  It it is is."

"Then why does your check say your name is LaRae?"

(Gulp)  I answer, (now, I'm not kidding about this answer), I say, "LaRae is my nickname.  Shelby is my real name."

"Why do you put your nickname on your checks?"

Man, this lady is nosey.  With my face the color of scarlet to the third power, I grab my stuff and mumble, "I don't know." Then I got the heck out of there.

LESSON LEARNED:  Always Carry Cash