As I tell the hundredandeleventieth person “thanks” about their comments on my new haircut, the thought struck that the poor geek living in the cubicle next to me probably wants to pull out his own hair.
I come to this conclusion since this particular guy and I have a passing co-worker relationship, but not so much as to say hello in the morning or goodbye in the evening, even though we breathe pretty much the same air.
Let me explain the haircut issue, and why it probably does nothing to endear me to him, or him to me. I wrote a post awhile back specifically about this guy, then deleted the entire thing, because I discovered that my pregnant-angst (a VERY real thing) was driving my irritation with his penchant for crazy anime on his computer screens, screechy Japanese pop music he likes to play, his condescension when we actually talk because I lived in Japan, and I didn’t learn the language…but I digress.
Every time I see a new person who hasn’t seen my [drastic] new haircut, they have to stop at my desk and say something, and every time I start with: “they cut off a lot more than I thought” or “it looks nothing like the picture I had!” This has happened a dozen times or more in the week+ I’ve been “chopped”. While I hope my cubicle neighbor tunes out my broken record, he probably doesn’t because he’s a bit of a suck-up with the powers that be, and probably has his enviable position by my desk to “watch” me. As does the new guy who moved into the cube behind me. I’m sure they’re all spies. That might be paranoia or just my overactive imagination, or my habit of writing and blogging new posts at my desk. Hem, hem.
I’m sure he could recite my hair story verbatim by now:
“Too much got cut off”
“Not sure if I like it”
“Oh, thanks! You really think it’s alright?”
“I wanted a change for spring”
Anyway, I bear his strangeness and he has to bear my girlyness. OH, here he comes, the SPY, I must run.
Here's us at Ben and Heidi's last weekend. Note the hair.
Have a great weekend! We’re 17 weeks today!