I just got back from the hairdresser. My hairdresser is a very bossy, glamorous Vietnamese woman. She's also a friend of the family of about 20 years.
She squeezed my appointment in during her one day work week, post San Francisco holiday, pre July 4th holiday. Anyway, She refuses to cut my hair the way I want it. Well, she has once, but that's it. And yet I continue to go there. It's a combination of co dependence, loyalty and masochism, I suppose. Much like my life.
The other day, another Vietnamese friend of a friend told me, "Oh, that's how all Vietnamese hairdressers are. They don't listen." She told me this before I even had the chance to mention my problem to her, so I guess it's true.
I think she was particularly distracted today telling me about her best friend's husband's multiple affairs. Anyway, she did a really botched up job. It looked all right in the front, but when I got home and looked more closely, the back was a mess. Even my mother commented on it.
So today I bought a hair clipper and cut the rest off myself.
I now look like I've just escaped Auschwitz.
Or more like the one overfed prisoner who's been scamming the others for their crusts of bread, you know. Still, there's some small comfort knowing that at least my students aren't around to make fun of me. That's what, I guess, friends are for.
Night Crumbs - I am writing this on my phone while stomach down on a bed in the ER, because all of my internal organs blew out of my ass when I read the earth-shattering ...