I'M SORRY CAREN...DO YOU HEAR ME .... I'M SORRY!!!!

I have one really stupid flaw.

I have a guilt complex that only works in the weakest of circumstances.

For instance, I feel guilty whenever I have to return something to a store. Or when I forget to return a phone call.

Today was a perfect example.

How coVEEENient, wouldn't you say??

...almost like I've actually ... thought this entry through already ... hmmmmm....

Gads ...shut the fuck up Bob and just get on with the story...shit....

I go to get my haircut today. The same girl has been cutting my hair now for about two years. Her name's Caren and she's been doing a decent job for the last few years.

I get there right at noon, and she's not there. I figure ... maybe it's her day off ... maybe she's at lunch ... whatever.

I'm not particular about who cuts my hair. I like Caren because ... well ... ummmm...she's kinda got nice boobies and a pretty smile and eyes....

Oh FOR GOD'S SAKES LADIES .... If you had your choice of some dud like me or a Chippendale's lookalike cutting your hair ... who the hell would you go for???

Well ... of course...the dud like me. The Chippendale's guy has no interest in women.

Duh.

So anyway...this girl at the front desk who I had seen in there numerous times offered to cut my hair.

I coulda said "Is Caren working today?"

But I didn't. I didn't CARE. I just wanted my hair cut in 15 minutes and then please let me get back my hectic schedule.

So I sat down in the chair, the girl began cutting ...

...And Caren walked in.

Okay ... I felt about as comfortable as Jeffrey Dahmer at a PTA meeting. I felt soooo guilty letting someone else cut my hair in front of her. The same hair that she'd been cutting for two years.

I dunno...any hairdressers out there have any opinions on this? I'm a decent tipper...at least 30% each time and 100% at Christmas, if that counts for anything.

At that point...I didn't know what to do. Should I say "Hi" to Caren?? Would that be kosher?? What if Caren and the girl cutting my hair have ill feelings toward each other behind the scenes and this was the straw that broke the camel's back?

I decided to not say anything, but smiled whenever she said anything to everyone.

Before long, she's cutting someone else's hair and making all kindsa racket. Which was strange because one of the reasons I've always liked Caren is that for the most part, she's quiet. She'll ask how you're doing, tell you who's died in her family recently, the hair's cut, thanks, see ya in six weeks...

She said something that was funny, and I chuckled.

Caren had found her opening.

"OH!!," she started. "I want you to know I read your column a few weeks ago and laughed my butt off."

Now I'm squirming. First, I didn't want her to recognize me there in the chair. I was hoping she hadn't noticed me. Now she's carrying on a conversation with me which I DID NOT want to have.

"Oh," I said, fake smiling my ass off. "Which one?"

"The one where you were sick," she said.

Kids, Uncle Bob pops out more "sick" columns in a year than your average welfare mom pops out kids. I need specifics.

Plus ... I thought she was lying. She always asked me how things were going in my writing and we'd talk about it briefly.

So when she said she had read my column, this was the first time in two years she had ever admitted it.

I decided to call her bluff. I couldn't recall writing a column with a "sick" theme recently and told her those same words.

Damned if Caren just goes and humiliates me right there and then.

"I've got the column right here," she says, pulling the damned clipped-out column off of her bulletin board.

All of a sudden, the girl cutting my hair gets weird on me.

"This is HIM?" she says. "I didn't even recognize you from your picture."

At this point, every single head in the place turns and looks my way.

Meanwhile, my hair is soaking wet, plastered against my skull, making me look like a Buddhist monk with a Beatle hairdo.

Alright...I'm not fucking amused at this point. I look like dogshit and everyone's staring at me thinking I'm someone much more important than I am.

"Oh wow," I said, trying desperately to think of something to say as I turn three shades of red. "You have it up on your bulletin board."

Wrongfuckingmove. Wrongfuckingmove. Wrongfuckingmove.

"Yes," she said. "I tell everyone that I'm the one who cuts your hair."

Ohgoddam. Ohgoddam. Ohgoddam.

Am I WRONG in feeling guilty here? I clearly didn't DO anything wrong.

But for some reason ... I feel like I would if I had cheated on my wife.

I mean ... I went to another woman. Her neighbor, no less.

I asked her for the same service that Caren would usually give me, but since Caren wasn't around, and I NEEDED it ohhh so bad ... I let another woman do me.

And I liked it. My God...I look fine as shit with this new hairdo.

So much so ... that I'd really like to start seeing this other woman instead of Caren.

D-love....can you help me??

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If you want to read my OTHER diary when UNCLE BOB was 18 and pitiful , PLUS check out my senior yearbook photo (I'm not gay...but I woulda done me...) CLICK HERE .

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