Saturday, July 11, 2009

My hair appointment

The hairdresser I went and saw last weekend was a tad disorganised, if unprofessional. Mind you, I had no appointment. She propositioned me outside her "shop" and asked me if I wanted a haircut. I couldn't say no. She was too gorgeous to refuse.

So I went in and was confronted with the one thing a busty, somewhat bootylicious mother doesn't want to see: a chair that is way too small for you to fit in.

After that, it all went a little strange. The "hairdresser", when I told her there was "no way my derriƩre will fit in there", lost no pace when she whirled around to me and implored.... "You bruss my hair? I have a haircut and you be um, um, thaaaaa, um, hairdwessah??"

Again, I couldn't say no. I took up my cutting utensil (a swizzle stick from the Crown Hotel...) and had no choice but to snip away. I was putty in her tiny hands.

Halfway during the cut, I had to leave apologetically. Dinner was on. When I walked past later, it was to this scene, befitting of the hurried beautifying that I heard going on earlier, after I left the hairdresser in her salon....

Compact, keys, calculator, toe dividers (???), a credit card, comb, some random flash card, lippy strewn in a northerly direction.... What else could a girl need in her handbag?

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