This was my hair dresser on Friday.
(I decided asking her/him for a picture would have been too weird.)
Normally, I really don't like judging people based on how they look. I mean, they can't exactly help it. However, when it comes to someone who is going to be stylin' my fine hairs, you can bet your bottom dollar that I'm gonna give her locks the good once over. And probably the rest of her fashion choices.
So when this gender-questionable person approached me, my first instinct was to run. Rude, yes. But if girlfriend (Boyfriend?) can't do her own hair, what kind of mayhem is she going to cause with mine?
But what could I do?
I couldn't walk away after deciding she didn't know her way around a hairbrush or that we didn't exactly share similar anatomy. I had made the appointment over the phone, and I'm new to San Antonio. How could I have known? Not to mention, I desperately needed someone to fix my Cruella Devile-roots.
For the next three hours, I proceeded to have my fears confirmed. This person had no idea what they were doing. She jerked my hair around like I was a rag doll, and I'm pretty hard headed (no pun implied). She turned my chair back and forth, back and forth so much that I've got a bad case of the whiplash. Bleach got on my forehead, on my ear, on my neck. She used a clipboard to flatten my foils. A CLIPBOARD, people. She combed my hair with her mammoth nails instead of a brush. She spoke in hurried Spanish to her friend across the salon, obviously asking her what to do next. She pushed her unnaturally large breasts in my face several times. She made crude jokes about having hair on her chest (thus confirming my other suspicions). She attempted to sing Adele, over and over and over.
A police officer came into the building near the end. Apparently, he just sticks around until the salon closes. It wasn't even a bad area! At this point, I was convinced there were dead bodies hidden in the bathroom. I wondered if the she-man would chop me to bits after cruelly ruining my hair. The policeman loved telling me stories of current murders going on in town. (Impossible to know how to respond to that.)
Well, I survived. My hair, however, did not. I am now a platinum, splotchy blonde. I practically glow in the dark. Lovely. Grahm had to give me lots of hugs as I cried a few (okay, several) vain tears. Let's hope nothing bad actually happens to me in this lifetime. I obviously handle things super well.