A few days ago, I got my hair cut (and it looks great)!  My stylist is the only person I trust to hold a pair of scissors to my head, plus she’s my age so we have lots to talk about.
While I was there, she told me that she’s ENGAGED!  That’s another one…who’s keeping count??  Seriously.
Anyway, that’s not what I want to talk about.

One of our conversations left me a little stunned and quite amused.  So this is for Matt, who I know will start ranting once he reads this, just like I do when someone asks if I, being from Canada, live in an igloo.

Stylist: “So, what language do they speak down there?”

Me: “Seriously? English.”

“Well that’s easy for you then eh?  What’s your boyfriend’s name?”

“Matt.”

“Wow, that’s a normal name…does he have like a New Zealand name too?”

“No…it’s just Matt.”

“Oh.  So is it hard to get into the country?”

“Well, I got my plane ticket and visa all sorted…but I have to do this like Maori-tribal-haka-war dance-thing before they’ll actually let me into the country.  So, fingers crossed!”

*blank stare*

“Yeah…I’m kidding.”