Argh!

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   Three or four days ago, I went to my favorite party store. That's what we call a store that carries beer, wine, liquor and snacks here in Michigan, USA. I ordered my favorite submarine sandwich and waited for it to be made to order.

I had been frequenting the store more often since setting eyes on the most amazing redhead I have ever seen. EVER. With hair to her waist, perfect bangs and a body to match, this sexy woman was worth the price increase that the owner had recently placed on just about every item on the food menu. Her hair was so clean, so immaculate, and I admired her from afar as her hair slipped out of a ponytail and cascaded down her back as she giggled with other customers.

I mentioned to one of the owners that he always hired the prettiest cashiers and said I'd even like to take a photo of the redhead on duty that night. He laughed and half-heartedly said "go ahead," but I chickened out, limiting my one-on-one time to small talk with her before leaving, thinking about all the things I should have said.

I went back to the store tonight and was stunned to see the cashier's hair was at least a foot shorter. Her hair is still amazing in color and the bangs are still there, but it's no longer waistlength. Cripe, she didn't even have it in a ponytail as it bounced against her back, perhaps bra-strap length at best.

"Dude," I said to the owner, "I tell you that your cashier has the best hair in the city and you let her get it cut?" 

"She donated it," he said. 

With a wrenched look on my face and my eyes rolling back into my head, I took a deep sigh and told the owner, "I hate to break her heart..." and then went on to tell him about the pros and cons of Locks of Love. He listened intently to my theory (and those published on this very site) of how there's no way there could be that many children to need a warehouse filled with donated hair. When faced with the facts, the owner concluded that selling donated hair was a "scam."

I didn't tell his cashier about this, of course. She already had lost her smile. Maybe she was upset about her decision to cut her hair; maybe it was something else. But I was disappointed, not only at her for cutting the hair, but at myself for not complimenting her and getting the photo when I had the chance.

Who knows if I could have stopped a planned haircut or if it was a spur of the moment thing? But I blew it, plain and simple.