For more than five years I’ve had the greatest hair stylist in the world. She got me. She got my hair. She’d been through the long spiral perms and suffered with me during my Grave’s Disease and the temporary loss of my hair. Once I was in remission, we worked together to make my hair healthy again.
I was there during her pregnancy and helped celebrate the birth of her first baby. She was there when I got my puppy. Our “babies” grew up together. We shared pictures. We shared stories. We shared life. Every five weeks.
She moved last week.
I’m devastated. I have four weeks to find a new hair stylist. I really don’t like looking for new people to provide me a service. I get attached. I like consistency. I don’t do well with change. Not in service providers anyway. Okay, I don’t do well with change in general.
I’ve been with the same doctor for over ten years. I followed him when he moved his office twice. He has my entire medical history. When I thought I was having a heart attack, I went straight to my doctor instead of the emergency room. That’s how much I don’t like having to deal with someone new. I couldn’t possibly go through my entire medical history again with a new doctor. I have too many diseases, disorders, and dysfunctions to count.
Did I tell you I don’t like change?
We bought our new Town & Country minivan from a Chrysler dealership on Kennedy Boulevard. I had a routine set up for maintenance. I planned the route in my mind and managed to work through my anxiety by getting familiar with the service department. They knew me. They knew my car. It worked.
They closed.
Panic attack. We received a letter from the old dealership telling us that we’d now be serviced by the new dealership on Florida Avenue. A whole new route to learn. A new service provider. They didn’t know me. They didn’t know my car. I’ve been there twice now. I’m learning the route. It’s almost familiar. The anxiety is still there. I’m working through it.
I’ve had the same vet all my dog’s life. Almost four years. They know Jack. They know how he’s wary of strangers and how he needs to be muzzled if they’re going to give him a shot. They know how protective he is of me and how they have to take him to the back area if they want to examine him. They even know all about my quirky boarding instructions and have them on file.
Then we got a parrot. Well, actually the parrot got us. But, that’s a different story. So I had to find an avian vet. Jack’s vet didn’t take care of birds (at the time), so I took Bailey to an avian vet close to home. I really liked Bailey’s vet and we’ve boarded him there a few times and he’s enjoyed it. So, my husband says, if you like Bailey’s vet, why don’t you take Jack there too. (They also care for dogs and cats.) But, I couldn’t. It would be like starting over for Jack and I wouldn’t want to put him through the stress of having to get used to new people.
Plus, my anxiety level skyrocketed when I considered my husband’s proposal. Now, Jack’s vet has expanded to birds. My husband suggests we move Bailey to Jack’s vet.
Right.
Did I mention I don’t like change?
