I’m waiting for the stork.

Remember how yesterday I was thankful for the way that my boss treats the salon to a delicious breakfast when we have meetings?

Well, yesterday morning was one of those delicious breakfast mornings.

Amongst the list of serious salon issues to address was the pressing matter of how and when we’ll all be dressing up for Halloween.

Every year we dress up.  And every year someone has a brilliant idea to organize a theme.  And every year we all half-heartedly agree that it’s not a bad idea.  Never once has one of these themes panned out.  Not one single time.  While it might be nice to pull off being the cast of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs… once the enthusiasm dies down, we’re all too tuckered out to commit.  Naturally yesterday at breakfast somebody mentioned a theme.  And for the first time in the six years that I’ve been at this salon, we all excitedly agreed.  My coworker suggested that we should all look pregnant for Halloween.  OoOoOooOoooh!  Everyone’s eyes lit up (and this was pre-coffee, mind you)!  Just think!  ALL of us!  Waddling around on the same day!  (And COMFORTABLY!)

We range in age from young 20’s to 65.  My boss is the one who’s 65.  One year she dressed up as a peacock.  But my favorite was when she dressed up as a spring chicken.  See?

So I glanced at her and said, “You should be the stork.”

I’m sorry.  I can’t help myself.  There’s something wonderful about my boss walking around and cutting hair in a bird costume.  I’m confident that before I opened my big mouth she had about 30 seconds of relief at the thought of enjoying a less complex Halloween.  But once the challenge was extended, there was no going back.  This should be good.