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     When my hairdresser moved away, life as I knew it ended. She didn’t simply style my hair every six weeks, she reshaped my self esteem. She’d served as my confessor and cheerleader. And now that she was gone, I wondered whether I had ever really thanked her.     
     For that matter, have I expressed gratitude to all the other service providers who keep me glued together? Like my mechanic: I don’t know the difference between an oil pan and a bedpan, yet he never disses me. Or the fo...