Ponying

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So I was in the supermarket standing in front of a wall of hair ‘accessories.’

I’ve mentioned elsewhere that I last visited a hair adjustment professional something over thirty years ago. After that long, things tend to get… that long. Which means that sometimes you need hair manipulation devices. Like when you have to wear a helmet. Or mow the lawn on a hot day. Or walk around town with a tail wind. At times like that some sort of hair control scheme is called for — which usually requires apparatus.

In short, an ‘accessory.’ (What a stupid name.)

Now, most hair ‘accessory’ companies don’t really cater to my particular demographic (creepy old men with a poor grasp of personal grooming) because there aren’t, after all, that many of us. In fact, in a three meter wall of clips, scrunchies and objects-with-no-purpose-that-I-can-discern, there are usually a hundred things that frighten me and approximately four that don’t. But a long, long time ago I found something useful (kind of like this) in that tiny-group-of-about-four: efficient (efficient enough, anyway), robust (made of steel) and inexpensive. (A little gaudy, perhaps, but scraping the paint off helps with that.)

I don’t think I ever broke one (made of steel, remember), but I tend to lose them at a steady rate so I have to get new ones about once a year. That poses no problem — they were cheap and ubiquitous; the only real problem was the time it took to scrape the paint off of a new package.

Until now.

I recently lost my last one (I probably dropped it in a locker room after a hockey game) which meant it was time to make my annual pilgrimage to buy another package. Only…

Only…

Only it turns out they don’t make them any more — I tried half a dozen different stores (they used to be everywhere!) and bupkis. They’ve been made for at least thirty years (that I know) but I guess ‘they’ finally decided that one guy in Canada buying one package a year didn’t give them the profit margin they wanted. (Or something. It may not have just been me buying them — I found someone selling them online for five times the old price; twenty bucks for a package of hair clips strikes me as just a little steep.) The supermarket was my final hope.

Supermarkets are, as you know, all about disappointment.

But just then a guy walked by wearing the a picture of a mass murderer on his chest.

Supermarkets are clearly about more than disappointment. A lot more.

They also have ice cream.

 

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The Author

Rose Glace is the pseudonym of nobody important.

1 Comment

  1. Pingback: Ricing – Rose Glace's Blog

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