A New York woman was at her East Side hairdresser’s getting her hair styled prior to a trip to Rome with her boyfriend. She mentioned the trip to the hairdresser, who responded, “Rome? Why would anyone want to go Rome? It’s crowded and dirty and, worse yet, full of Italians. You’re crazy to go to Rome.
So, how are you getting there?”
“We’re flying on United,” was the reply. “We got a great rate!”
“United?” exclaimed the hairdresser. “That’s a terrible airline. Their planes are old, their flight attendants are ugly, and they’re always late.
So, where are you staying in Rome?”
“We’ll be at this exclusive little place over on Rome’s left side called Teste…..”
“Don’t go any further. I know that place. Everybody thinks its gonna be something special and exclusive. But it’s really a dump, the worst hotel in the whole city! The rooms are small, the service is surly and they’re way overpriced.
So, whatcha doing when you get there?”
“We’re going to go to see the Vatican and we hope to see the Pope.”
“That’s rich,” laughed the hairdresser. “You and a million other people trying to see him. He’ll look the size of an ant. Boy, good luck on this lousy trip of yours. You’re sure going to need it.”
A month later, the woman, all smiling, came in for her hair appointment. The hairdresser asked her about her trip to Rome.
“It was absolutely wonderful,” explained the woman, “not only did we arrive on time in one of Continental’s brand new jets, but it was overbooked and they bumped us up to first class. The food and wine were wonderful, and I had a handsome 28 year old steward who waited on me hand and foot.
And the hotel — it was fabulous! They’d just finished a $5 million remodeling job and now it’s just a jewel, the finest hotel in the city. They, too, were overbooked, so they apologized and gave us their owner’s suite at no extra charge!”
“Well,” muttered the hairdresser, “I know you didn’t get to see the Pope.”
“Actually, we were quite lucky, for as we toured the Vatican, a Swiss Guard tapped me on the shoulder and explained that the Pope likes to personally meet some of the visitors, and if I’d be so kind as to step into his private room and wait, the Pope would personally greet me.” Sure enough, five minutes later, the Holy Father walked through the door and shook my hand! I knelt down and he spoke a few words to me.”
“Really?” asked the hairdresser. “What’d he say?”
He said, “Where did you get that horrible haircut?”
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