Stop Interrupting Me

Last week, I told you about my latest and most terrifying haircut adventure. Today I’m going to tell you that it may not be over.

No, I’m not saying that I’ve been getting my hair cut continuously for the past three weeks. I will admit that would be terrifying in its own way. Thank you so much for bringing it up. If there’s anything I need, it’s to waste more time worrying about crazy stuff that you bring up…like three week long haircuts. Please don’t interrupt me.

I’m concerned about something much more sinister, with ethical implications far beyond what I should be addressing on my humble blog.

Lydia, Oh Lydia

The only thing scarier than one of these is one of these in Lydia’s hand. (image by Dr. K CC by SA 3.0)

You might recall that my last few haircuts were done by a woman who is littered with bad tattoos. During my last cut, she brought out a straight razor to trim the hair on the back of my neck. No one has ever used a straight razor to cut my hair before.

While she was trimming the hair, she actually trimmed off a piece of my neck. She apologized when she did it. And since it didn’t bleed all that much and it is not smart to mouth off to someone holding a razor, I was cool about it.

Yes, I just assessed my own action and decided I was cool about it. Stop interrupting me.

Lydia, The Tattooed Lady cut a chunk out of my neck. I’ve begun to wonder if it really was an accident. There might be more going on here.

I’ve told you that Lydia has a lot of bad tattoos. And when I first told you about how she cut me, I told you that both times she has given me a haircut, she’s told me how much fun getting a tattoo is. She encouraged me to get one and even offered to connect me with the artist she uses because (she thinks) he is very good. I’ve turned down her offers.

During the last haircut, I said no thank you to the offer of her tattoo artist. I was bleeding less than five minutes later.

Retaliation Isn’t Her Goal

No, I don’t think she cut me in some sort of attempt to retaliate. Stop interrupting me.

My DNA is constantly spinning. (public domain, wikimedia)

It seems very important to Lydia that I get a tattoo. I think it would be a bonus for her if I got that tattoo from the hack that does hers. I’m not inclined to fulfill Lydia’s wishes, I just want my hair shorter. My second refusal was the last straw. She cut me to get my DNA.

Lydia, The Tattooed Lady may be trying to clone me.

Yes, I’m aware that she could get my DNA from my hair. If she tried to get my hair off the floor she might get the wrong hair and end up with a clone of a different person. When she cut me with the razor she got a confirmed DNA sample. Stop interrupting me.

Lydia, The Tattooed Lady may be trying to clone me to fulfill her insane desire to have me tattooed.

If You See Me, Look Twice

It is possible that somewhere not so far away, is a sad clone. He looks like me. He has endured unspeakable atrocities at the hands of Lydia. And those atrocities were only the prelude to the tattoos.

Cloned me is covered with bad ink. Scarred and scared by his life with Lydia, he is like me in looks alone. He roams the streets. People can see that he is miserable and full of rage. Children cower as he passes. Adults flee. He can’t get Chinese food because everyone runs out the back door of the restaurant as he comes in the front. His hunger only increases his misery.

Cloning is a very touchy subject for scientists. If my clone was created by a cosmetologist, how can he know that he was ethically created? What a burden.

Deep down, the clone is like me. He wants to befriend people. But he can’t.  Because of his tortured, terrifying appearance they just run away. My clone is a desperate man.

If you’re walking down the street and you think you see me, be careful. Look at my hands. If you see LOVE and HATE tattooed across my knuckles, run away. Look at my neck. If it says Lydia on the side, you’re not looking at my neck. That’s my scary clone and his scary neck.

You might know me, but neither of us know what my clone might be capable of, nor do we have a handle on what motivates him. He’s probably a decent guy at heart; likelyas good as any man who was grown from a mole severed from the neck of another man. Until we know for sure, be cautious.

I’m due for another haircut in a week or two. This could be the start of Lydia’s clone army.

Or, I could show some initiative and go somewhere else for a trim.

Of course, now that I’m looking for suggestions on where to get my next haircut, you’re not interrupting. Geez.



20 Comments on “Stop Interrupting Me”

  1. List of X says:

    I should be able to recognize him as your clone, because he’d be several decades younger than you are, due to current limitations of the cloning technology.

  2. Eva says:

    And he’d have a cute, little mole on the back of his neck.

  3. Cloning hadn’t crossed my mind until this moment. I think you are right!

  4. Betty says:

    That explains why I thought I saw you drinking a pumpkin latte and driving a white pick up truck with the license plate BLRT.

  5. If she clones the clone, does he come with tatts already in place? You should keep tabs on them – they could make excellent backup singers.

  6. knace says:

    I think this story has all the makings of cool graphic novel. The good hearted, hard working cop who one day falls prey to a criminal mastermind. ( the hairdresser is NOT the mastermind. I’m thinking it’s the tattoo artist) who clones and tattoos him and then his clone is brainwashed to commit crimes. Wait- would clones have identical fingerprints? And, who would play you and your clone in the movie adaptation? =)

  7. I don’t mean to speak out of turn, but it occurs to me that in choosing a new establishment, you might reconsider your policy of frequenting places with “Clips” in the name. Maybe Lydia takes her job literally.

    As fate would have it, I have to cancel my appointment at a place with “Salon” in the name, and my girl Heather, who is tattoo-free and in the ten+ years I’ve known her has never once caused me bodily harm or forced me to watch Little House re-runs, has a waiting list. I’d be happy to give you my time slot.

    Heather does, however, change her hair color more frequently than some people change socks, so I can’t guarantee you won’t come out with an interesting shade of chartreuse.

    • omawarisan says:

      I think I could go to another color pretty economically. There’s not much to dye. Tell heather I’ll be right there.

      No worries, it was your turn to speak.

  8. This would have been a lot less complicated if you had of just gone and gotten a tattoo or, of course, just gone to another hairdresser in the first place. Now you have no choice to keep yourself entirely tattooless and unmarked in any way. It is your only hope when they come looking for you after your clone has participated in unspeakable acts. Every witness will be able to testify that indeed the perp had many distinguishing marks. Please find another hair salon. I worry.

  9. Considering how many blogs your writing shows up on, there’s credible evidence that the cloning is already well underway.

  10. And I thought it was weird that my hair dresser likes to give me hugs. Now I think she must be the Mary Poppins of stylists.

  11. As a woman of a certain age, I attempted using cheap hair color from the lowest Kroger shelf in the “beauty aisle.” Only once. I have returned to my sweet neo-punk stylist (white hair with purple streaks–growing out her Mohawk). She handles midlife cuts without turning women into crones.

  12. Dan Hennessy says:

    A couple of things occur to me after reading this post : First , you might consider seeking help ( interpret that as you will ) ; and , you better hope Lydia hasn’t read the post —- ” a woman scorned……” and all that .
    note: Most tattoos do not improve with age , ie. sagging , etc. Maybe Lydia is thinking ahead and hers have not set yet . A future tattoo beauty awaits , perhaps . Never underestimate anyone who uses a straight razor .

  13. pegoleg says:

    You seem to get your hair cut every 2 weeks. What are you, a Yeti?

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