I need to probably not spend so much time in places with people.
Went to see my girl, Stephanie, today.
Every other month or so, I visit her and ask her to please make the top of my head not look like I’ve just completely given up on life.
And so she goes to work putting stuff on it and using some scissors and plugging in appliances and I walk out of the salon looking like a woman who makes an effort again.
And then I go running…
But today, when Stephanie asked me how I wanted to be fixed, I showed her this.
And she did an excited little jump and said, “Really?”
And my response?
And not in a sarcastic way. Or a decisive way. More like in a “Please sir may I have some more” way.
Seriously. I asked my hair stylist for permission to cut my hair. For permission to pay her to cut my hair the way I wanted her to cut my hair.
Thankfully, she said yes.
And then she started explaining why it was such a solid decision. She said things like “head shape cut” and “texture” and “the way it will fall.”
I don’t know. I was just happy I didn’t have to apologize for asking.
Because that’s who I am.
As she was scissoring away at my head, she was talking about…well interesting things. I assume. I can’t be sure. Because I was distracted.
I finally had to explain.
“I’m sorry. I’m distracted by all the penises.”
Pointing at the door. “You see it, right? The penises. On the door?”
The door, which leads into a room I don’t usually get to visit, had an oval of decorative glass with, I swear, penises etched into it.
Stephanie admitted that there may, in fact, be penises etched into the door to what they call the “spa room,” but now I question what kind of spa services I’m missing out on…
“So is that the first time you’ve seen…penises on that door?”
“Yeah. Well it’s the first time I’ve actually looked at it. But they’re definitely there. I’m not crazy. I definitely see them…Think that means I need date more or less?”
“Less, honey. Definitely less.”
After she put the color on my hair, she left me unattended for a solid 15 minutes. During which time, I almost started two different fights. In the salon.
But in my defense, the girl in the chair next to me was refusing to answer her hair person’s question as to whether or not the high school she graduated from and the neighboring high school are actual enemies.
And because it’s possible that I work at the neighboring high school, I felt compelled to represent.
“Let me help you out, sweetie. We are. We are absolutely enemies.”
And when her hair person reacted with, “oh wow.” I turned on her, too. Because I had to let her know.
“But don’t you outsiders try to mess with any of us.”
“I’m sorry. I’m not usually allowed to talk to people without supervision.”
Thank gawd Stephanie came back to supervise.
Because next chair chick’s hair person started talking about Tinder and failed hook ups and how she is going to create a new app called Friender.
And. Of course. I had to say words.
“That’s perfect! Like, I don’t want you to stick anything inside of me. I just want you to tell me I’m pretty.”
Sooooo, anyway. “I love what you’ve done here with my hair, Stephanie…”
I hope I can figure out how to recreate it myself. Because I don’t know if I’m allowed to go back. Without a handler.
Anyone wanna sign on for that gig?