The Reverend is on his Way

My dad claimed he was leaving at noon, but of course, he left at 11. I need to do some dishes, clean the tub, and figure out where he's going to sleep. I also need to convince the Butcher to vacuum the stairs. Instead, I went to lunch with the Professor and got my hair cut. The Butcher says it looks too poofy. I think it's fine. Though, I have to say, nothing cracks me up more than trying to get my hair cut in Nashville. Today, I went in and said, "Just go ahead and hack it off." She said, "No, I don't think I have to do that." Fine. If you're only going to charge me twelve dollars, I guess I can live with not having it hacked off. But I once spent $50 so that "Ramon" could refuse to cut my hair because it would be a crime against men. Oh, you poor men! Oppressed by my wanting short hair. Anyway, I think I can spend a good portion of the afternoon finishing up my current afghan* instead of doing my chores, so that makes me happy. *Is it rude to work on a gift afghan while you're still sick? I mean, granted, it's not a blanket full of smallpox, but I don't see how one can wrap it around himself at this point and not catch my cold, especially since I slept under it all yesterday.