Back in Louisiana for a visit with the oldest person I know at 98, Santa Fe Sally’s mom. We are here for the next week enjoying the humidity and fried seafood. Tomorrow is a visit from Sally’s son and family and there might be a visit to the Big Easy there somewhere.
The rest of the week is jammed full of stuff not nearly as exciting as that. It is crawfish season, so we might eat a mudbug or two. Maybe we’ll test drive a RAV4 while we are here because the Santa Fe Toyota dealer had zero on their lot. I know, we can hardly contain ourselves either.
Wait, I almost forgot today’s big event. I got my haircut. It is a Great Clips-style place. Sally’s Mom has been going to one person at this place for quite a while, so Sally gets her hair cut by her whenever she is in town. Now, me too. This morning, Sally went first (ladies before gentlemen and all) and I went second. Like Great Clips, the senior haircut is a few bucks cheaper than for everyone else. When I checked out, the woman asked, “You’re not 65, are you?” To which I replied, “My next birthday my age will have a 7 as its first digit.” So, I got the discount.
On the way back to the car, Sally said, “She didn’t give me the discount.” I said, “You should take that as a compliment that she thought you were under 65.” She is a couple of years younger than me, but she was more upset about having to spend the extra three or four bucks to see that logic.