Yesterday I went to a new place to get a haircut. It was a quiet little salon with really chill stylists who talked in soothing tones about homeopathic remedies. I had to fight the urge to laugh when a discussion about homemade sponges went on longer than I would have preferred.
-Just put oatmeal in a sock, it's wonderful.
-Take an old sock and just put the oatmeal in there.
But having a professional shampoo your hair will relax just about anyone, so by the time I was finished, I was feeling mellow and calm, and to be honest, kind of craving some hot oats.
My backpack was on the floor near one of the sofas in the waiting area, so I grabbed it and made my way to the counter to pay. Just as I was throwing it over my shoulder, I saw something out of the corner of my eye trailing at my feet and then it seemed to jump onto me along with my bag.
For readers who know me, take one guess as to what I thought it was.
A cat. Obviously.
For readers who don't know me, it's important to know that I'm afraid of cats and have a history of them following me. Anything you need to know about this topic can be found here.
So as I saw this thing leaping onto me, I yelped like a little baby girl in the highest pitch I can reach, "THIS DOESN'T BELONG TO ME!"
Every person in the tiny calm salon stopped what they were doing and turned to look at me. The music even seemed to stop.
I took a deep breath and composed myself.
I slowly turned my head and looked to the floor only to stare at the children's scarf that had caught on my bag.
It hung from my shoulder strap down to my feet like a limp boiled noodle.
I licked my lips, nodded my head, and slowly untangled the scarf before placing it back on the waiting room sofa.
When I returned to the counter, bright red, I sheepishly said, "I thought it was a cat."
I paid and left.
I won't be back.