Hair

Goin' to your hairdresser
is like life-
is like a box of chocolates
you never know what you're goonna get next..

especially with my hairdresser who forgets she's cutting my hair while cutting it
and she has 2 pictures of me staring at her on the table to remind her of what i want to look like in a few minutes
(my emergency parisian haircut which i want her to replicate but has been unable to do so. so i brought in pictures this time)
and my picture self is not looking one bit like my mirror self right now
and i'm twiddling my thumbs (AH i hope you'll read this one day)
straining not to interrupt and point to my picture self and scream 'MY HAIR, WOMAN!'
but i'm tied down to the chair with hair flying around me
listening to stories about hair class
and math that remains abstract and elusive
with very long pauses (of the cutting and not the talking), gesturing,
and i got a taste of the comb in my eye (i tell myself it could have been the sharp scissors so breathe, breathe)
and she remembers all details of my personal life (yes, i caved under pressure last time), recent trips, etc
i receive free advice about things relating to love and war
and walk out looking like a styled wet poodle (or djejeh mantoufeh)

i think hairdressers can only join the HHH (Hairdressers Hairdressing Hairsociation)if they solemnly swear on Oreal to pry precious (impertinent) information from the haircuttee, to be used in future seances as they deem fit.

I like her though, despite the misadventures.
We've established a good rapport. and hair will always grow back anyway.
and she does give good advice..my therahairdresserpist
No hairm done. Just a little disequilibrium with the scissors, that's all!
Plus I'll always have Paris. sniff sniff.