my salon day

While I sat with my head tilted down at my lap, my hair falling gently to the salon floor in pieces, I could hear another woman complain. Only, it wasn't complaining exactly. She'd just paid an obscene amount of money to dye her hair a honey gold color, which (I sneaked a peek) looked fine, only she was having trouble adjusting. From the: my eyebrows are too dark and I had them permanently dyed this color, what do I do? To: oh, wow, I think I have to change my glasses frames. Back to: my eyebrows are ruining everything!

What did she want them to do, I wondered. Make the color disappear? And also, who permanently dyes their eyebrows a dark color and then bleaches their hair blonde the next week? It was all I could do to keep staring at my lap like I couldn't hear and wasn't interested in her insecurities. But I was, and am, and since I couldn't look at her directly it was like reality-tv radio. All the drama, none of the cleavage.

Which brings me to the relaxing scalp massage that is part of the shampooing portion of the cut. As the woman worked mysterious substances into my scalp and rubbed circles of calm into my temples, another woman dumped an entire bucket of ice into the sink next to my ear. I tell you what. Nothing says relaxing like a thousand little ice cubes colliding in a metal basin.

Then I went home and played WoW and decimated loads of harpies.

The end.