The lady of alot

Earlier today, the Sally Hershberger of Lowell transformed my hair into some garish assortment of stripes. I think I hate it, but I’m not sure. It’s OK. I can’t have nice things. Sally’s young daughter is jailed in the salon for the summer, and she sat at the reception desk computer looking up breeds of dogs on Yahoo!. Every now and then she’d shout out a new one to her. “Akita! Basset Hound! Irish Wolfhound!” I shouted right back: “Airdale! Pomeranian! BOSTON TERRIER!” This does pass the time. I loved shouting out the dogs.

Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene
I’m begging of you please don’t take my man

While my hair was baking in its foil jacket, I received a phone call asking if a price I estimated covered some wildly complicated new functionality that no one even mentioned in the RFP. I yelled “No, and never call me again! Just thinking about you cost me $300!” and hung up. Then I got another call, and I yelled “I told you never to call me again!” but it was Mr. H, and this made him sad. Then I got a parking ticket. Did I mention the first people I yelled at were monks?

Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene
Please don’t take him just because you can

Wow. Yelling at a monk on a cell phone in a salon is a whole new level for me.

And I can easily understand
How you could easily take my man

The monks did call back, and they were ready to bargain. I prevailed.

My happiness depends on you
And whatever you decide to do, Jolene

Content Challenge is nearly over. Praise. I hope we can get through this without another mashup.

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