Why Cheating Never Works [Blogathon Day 1]

I've given this week of daily blogging the highly creative moniker of Blogathon. Hey, it's enough I plan to do this...let's not quibble over titles. And it just occurred to me that if I count yesterday's post, today is actually Day 2. But yesterday was announcing the event so it probably shouldn't count but it was an actual post and no I'm not trying to cheat my way out of an extra day of posting...that's not what today's cheating post is about. Crap! Ok, I won't count it...unless I don't post on day seven [or eight] then it'll count as a make-up. 

Again...I digress...FOCUS MAN!!!

So I recently found myself cheating. Like many episodes of infidelity it wasn't planned...it just happened. It really did. There was no warning, no foreshadowing, no hints of any kind. And when confronted, most have the tendency to fight or flee. I take the rarely discussed third option: I freeze. Then I'm hopelessly stuck in a situation I didn't want to be in. So I'm using this forum for catharsis because it's been troubling me ever since it happened and I need to confess.

I cheated...[deep breath]...on my Barber! Those of you who've struggled to find a good barber [or hairdresser or mechanic or massage parlor...umm...maybe not massage parlor] understand that this a sacred bond that should never be taken for granted. But I did, and now it's over. 

My barbershop is a five minute walk from my house in not the greatest part neighborhood. They were broken into twice before the owner consolidated with the beautyshop two doors down. I went in a couple weeks ago for my usual trim only to discover that Jimmy* wasn't there. One of the ladies, Shanice*, called him on his cell and wasn't going to be back for an hour. She then said all innocent-like, "If you just want a regular cut I can do it." My mind raced: I knew I should've said "Nah I'll come back later" but I didn't want her to think that I didn't want her to cut my hair because she was a woman but I also knew that if I said yes and it wasn't good I'd have to come up with some excuse if Jimmy wasn't there next time...and I froze...and next thing I know I'm in the chair and she's putting on the apron thingy and boy did she have a heavy hand [my scalp was sore for two days] and when she was done...it just wasn't the same. 

I walked out of the shop feeling thoroughly ashamed. I could barely stand to look at myself in the mirror. A week and a half later I returned to find out Jimmy was gone. Now I go to a shop where I pick styles from a number chart. I didn't know how good I had it.

*NAMES HAVE BEEN CHANGED TO PREVENT THE EMBARRASSMENT OF THE INNOCENT AND ANY SIMILARITES TO ANY REAL OR IMAGINED EVENTS OR PERSONS IS JUST A PRODUCT OF AN OVER-ACTIVE IMAGINATION.