Our Corner | The Open Public Hair Color Act | Dennis Box

This has been grouchy week. I spent far too much time arguing with the city of Maple Valley because the staff refused to let one of my reporters into a hearing examiner proceeding that was supposed to be open to the public.

This has been grouchy week. I spent far too much time arguing with the city of Maple Valley because the staff refused to let one of my reporters into a hearing examiner proceeding that was supposed to be open to the public.

I was not my normal Mr. Happy after I found that out. When city staff offered three different excuses, all wrong, about why the reporter was barred, my Mr. Happy meter crashed.

There’s nothing like being open and transparent.

Fortunately, I wrote a very grouchy column about it for The Maple Valley Reporter and it is all out of my system.

I thought I should write this column about something much more important, something I have been pondering for some time.

Has anyone else noticed women sometimes get their hair colored changed… a lot.  It’s like magic.

Why is it that women do all these things to their hair in these secret places and no one ever tells me what is going on?

I remember one time I walked into a women’s haircut place near my office in Maple Valley. It had an indecipherable name on the window. The only reason I went in was to pay for Katy, my daughter’s… something, something, something. She wouldn’t tell me. Nothing like open and transparent.

When I walked in a young woman at the counter looked at me like was from another solar system, until I pulled out my debit card. The numbers started spinning and I suddenly became dizzy.

I know why the young woman thought I was an alien. Apparently some people assume I am hair challenged.

Fine… I admit my hair flip is a little lighter these days, but I still have to mow my head every week. It’s not like I’m dead, at least I don’t think I am. Most people still talk like I am present in the room… except for Katy.

When I drive by those salons and places with darkened windows and fancy names, I can’t help wondering what is really going on inside. The paranoid reporter comes out in me, but I am afraid to go in because I know some girl will give me that alien look from a Ray Bradbury book.

I now realize open and transparent does not apply to many things. Possibly Maple Valley and all the fancy things my daughter does that I pay for. It’s like some dark secret even God doesn’t know. They show up with fingernails from Picasso, hair that changes color or streaks or tints or something, and I always feel lost.

I wonder if there is a public records request for women’s secrets. I bet it is better not to know or ask.

I think it may be safer to deal with a city pretending to be open and transparent than to ask the wrong questions about a woman’s hair color, fingernails and the many things I will never comprehend.

The passing years have proven one thing. I learned this in kindergarten while lying on a blanket fearing for my life. Girls are smarter than boys. Accept it and don’t ask dumb questions.

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