The Hair salon is a noisy place. It is spacious, intelligently decorated with art-deco accessories, bears the stamped signature of international celebrity hair stylist, but it is still a really noisy place. Not to mention hairy!
I walk in as always, marginally existing amidst the hubbub of beautiful women who go there to become even more beautiful, and wait my turn in queue. Several stronger personalities cut through me in the queue. I smile politely still not saying a word. I wait until the receptionist is free, then timidly ask her what service I wanted. She looked at my hair and coldly calculated I badly needed to do something with my hair! Of course, this I knew only because I can read minds. Because aloud all she said was “500”. My heart hurt as I wriggled out a fresh 500 bill. You better make me look like Holly Marie Combs. Sorry, I meant to say make my hair like hers that is.
This indigenous (I am trying to be politically correct nowadays and use indigenous instead of tribal), girl with really long nails dig into my mess of hair and try to give me a protein massage. There should be a rule about girls with long nail NOT performing hair massages. Or any kind of massages for that matter! Because my previously itchy scalp turned into a scratchy one by the time she finished massaging my hair! Huph!
No. of exams -1.
No. of assignments due- 1.
No. of hair washes- 1.
No. of badly needed lipstick bought-0.
No. of Will & Grace episodes watched-22 (season 1)
No. of historic Cricket matches watched - 1 (Hurray!)
No. of printed stories lost (L)-1.
No. of almost-forgotten poems retrieved- 1. (yay)
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