Eight weeks into our trip and I was in need of a haircut as a) I usually get my hair cut every 5 weeks, b) I do not have a blow dryer with me (Can you imagine?!), and c) We’ve hit hot, humid weather that increases the volume of my already-thick hair by a factor of three. It really was a bushy mess.


Yesterday we stayed in an RV park just north of Mazatlan. I could write volumes on RV parks & RV people but we’ve found them to be convenient places to spend a night as we press south.

Mike got up early and took Missy Chettie for a romp on the beach. I looked out the slider to see him engaged in conversation with some folks from Canada. (As an aside, among the RV crowd, we are seeing a 3 to 1 ratio of Canadians to Americans. Perhaps due to the economy or the bad press Mexico has gotten in terms of safety, the Americans seem to be staying home this winter.)

Okay, back to my hair. Once the coffee was made I headed to the beach and ran into the same people Mike had met. I asked the woman, quite impulsively, “You don’t cut hair, do you?” “Well, I cut dog hair.” “Really?”


I cajoled her into giving it a go.

Diane had all the tools of the trade: grooming scissors, electric razor, thinning shears, and even a smock that I suspect she usually wore when working on her clients but that she had me wear as she began. I’m sure she was more nervous than I.


While we were at it another neighbor came by and said, “Oh, I didn’t know you cut hair. Will you do mine?” This is how these things get started.


My hair looks great. I am relieved to be rid of all the weight of it. Several times during the day yesterday Mike looked at me and said, “You know, it’s really a pretty good haircut.”, “It’s really not that bad at all.”, And the left-handed compliment of, “You’ve definitely had worse haircuts.”

I just reply, “Woof.”