Perpetual Break

I’m a hairstylist. I stand in front of a mirror all day. My uniform consists of a polo and chinos or jeans. Shoes are usually running shoes or athletic. They are ugly.

Recently my partner decided we needed to spruce up. My workstation is spartan. There is nothing on the walls but the mirror and my reflection. I’ve decided that I need some photos around the mirror. My clients already know what we do here. The photographs need to reflect me. My interests, hobbies, pets. Everybody loves showing pictures of their pets.

The man cave. That room is who I am. I just realized that. There are photos of my wife and daughters. Photos of me teeing off on number eighteen at St. Andrews with the R&A clubhouse in the background. A coffee table covered with books about golf and an old paperback from the sixties about cocktail recipes. A lamp that looks like an old leather golf bag and a lamp that’s a monkey with my headphones around his ears. Of course there is a bar.

It’s good to have your own room. Remembering how I felt after golf, lying in bed looking out the window in St. Andrews, thinking, I can’t believe I’m here. Planning my next trip.

My wife likes to go junk shopping. Even though she isn’t supposed to contribute more junk to an already junky room. There, sitting on the coffee table. A leprechaun sitting on a golf ball. He has a cane. He’s old, like me. He looks like he is getting ready to speak to me.

He’s treasure, not junk.