This week, one of the girls at my school got a new asymmetrical haircut. She’s thirteen and it looks adorable on her: right side longer than the left side by about 5 cm, layered up the back, wispy sideswept bangs. I loved it as soon as I saw it – and thought that maybe such a haircut would work on me! I’m getting my hair done next Monday anyway, so the timing seemed right.
So I asked the girl if I could take a few photos of her hair to show my hairdresser. She agreed, and I snapped a few shots.
That evening, I texted my hairdresser (who happens to be a good friend of DD’s: let’s call her A). I told her that I’d found a haircut that I was very keen to try and that I even had photos to show her. She texted back that she’d love to see them right away so that she could start planning how to do it (or was that panicking about how to do it? I’ll have to look at my phone again.).
Except somehow, I selected my uncle A instead of my hairdresser A when my list of contacts came up. I only have like three contacts whose names start with A and yet I still managed to choose the wrong one.
So I actually texted those photos to my uncle A in another province. Now, my uncle A just suffered a heart attack early this week and is in the hospital. (My mom has been in constant contact with my aunt, and apparently he’s “comfortable”, whatever that really means.) But here’s the truly bizarre part: I texted those photos to my uncle A’s landline.
I didn’t know what to do at first. I mean, here I was, sending photos of a thirteen-year-old girl’s cute haircut to my uncle in the first place, and in the second place – uh, wait. Landline. Think about that for a moment, Pinklea. Landline. When you had a landline, did you ever receive any photos that people texted you?
Exactly. You never did, Pinklea. That’s because it’s NOT POSSIBLE to text photos to a landline.
So I retexted the photos – correctly this time – to my hairdresser. She loved the haircut and she’s quite sure she can do it and that it’ll look great on me.
And I don’t have to worry about texting photos to the wrong person. Wherever my uncle may be, hospital or home, he never got those photos, so I don’t have to apologize or do anything about it.
Which is comforting, because I’m not that good at apologizing.