This past Saturday, I snuck out of the house sans babyQ and got my hair done. Now, that may not sound like much, but it actually a 4 hour event by the time I drive downtown, find parking, get my cut and colour and return home. That still gives me quite a bit of time at the salon and, the salon being in a rather trendy-little-shop area, that gives me quite a bit of people watching time.
First up: early morning middle aged tourists in matching garb. Newly retired folk, braving the streets of the city before the streets were awake with their neatly pressed khakis [with lots of pockets for important documents], their matching sunglasses, tillies, courier bags, earth-tone vests, cameras and coffees.
Followed shortly by: dog walkers. Now, this is downtown Vancouver and so all dogs are little, purebred and come in pairs. Two chihuahuas. Two pugs. Two poodles. On tandem leashes, of course, to avoid the ungraceful tangling with their oh-so I-just-threw-this-$100-tee-on-to-walk-the-dogs youngish urbanites. Because, then they might spill their coffee.
Lastly: the babies. Now, this was hard, since I’d heartlessly abandoned my baby at home and here folk everywhere had brought their babies with them. I could have skipped the trim and asked him to just shave worst parent of the year into the back of my head, no? These youngish urbanites had replaced their paired pooches with baby bjorns and bugaboos. All carefully chosen, of course, to match the coffee cups.
But who am I to judge? Mr.Q and I have matching vests. We are doggy parents and we have a baby bjorn that babyQ goes grocery shopping in every week. These were merely curious observances of the timeline along Mainland Street on a Saturday morning while I was trying not to think of my poor abandoned baby [who, apparently, didn’t even notice my absence thanks to the talents of Mr.Q].
And, regardless of tourists, puppies and babies – mine or otherwise – I once again have killer hair.