The Misplaced Comma

We all know the importance of punctuation.  I have always tried to use punctuation properly both in verbal and written communication.  However, since I am not perfect, one of my recent adventures was the result of a misplaced comma. 

 Believe it or not, it all started with the fact that I wanted a "new doo."

Feeling tired of wearing my hair the same way, I was on the lookout for a new look...something a little sassy.  Suddenly, one day at the gym, I spotted this woman down near the free weights.  She had the cutest haircut!  Hopping off the elliptical and walking over to her, as I approached, I thought, "Why not?"

Introducing myself and asking her where she got her hair done, we talked about our hair being fine, having cowlicks, wearing glasses and loving short hair.  After she told the hairdresser's name and the name of the salon, I thanked her, hugged her and moved on.  

That afternoon I did something I think most women have done.  I cut my hair.  Yes indeed...I snipped away, with the kitchen scissors no less...first one side of the chin-length bob, then the other and then lastly, a few handfuls in the back.  Believe it or not, I felt better and less dragged down.  It was then that I decided I was going back to short hair.

The following day I called for an appointment with the new hairdresser.  Bear in mind, this all happened right before Christmas and since he was booked solid, I asked him if we could wait until after the beginning of the year so he could both cut my hair and color it.  Seeming very personable, he agreed and I made the appointment.

By the time my appointment rolled around, my hair had grown and I really needed help.    My natural color is brown...light brown however, since my existing hairdresser had highlighted my brown hair for years, it almost appeared as if I was blonde (as seen in the selfie with Copper).

So off I went to an unknown destination to let a new person fool with my hair.  Well, not only did I end up in the wrong city, but also in a residential neighborhood.   Getting a bad, sinking feeling as I made my way through the narrow, one-way streets, in the run-down, decrepit neighborhood, it was when the GPS told me my destination was only 750 ft walking distance, that I decided it would be safer for me to ask a young woman who was walking by than get out of the car.  

Shaking her head side to side, "There's no salon around here...not down here.  But that's the Avenue so unless it's in someone's apartment," she said softly "and I'd be careful if I were you," as she turned to walk toward her apartment building.  Between her words and watching a tow truck hook up a car and drive off as the owner watched out his front door, I knew it was time to move on.

  Since I had been cruising the neighborhood for about forty five minutes, I left and parked in a safer area hoping to replay the conversation I'd had with the woman from the gym.  Trying to remember the name of the salons (because there were two), it finally hit me.  Keying in the name of the other salon, new directions appeared and once again, I was off.

Originally I keyed in the name of the NEW, NOT YET BUILT SALON in the WRONG CITY altogether because of that "misplaced comma."  However, thanks to the misplaced comma, and a new hairdresser, my hair is short, brown and sassy..:).

just seeing, saying and sharing...

The Misplaced Comma

with you and those at

Our World Tuesday