the one where i get a haircut

I understand that for most people, getting a haircut is a pretty normal, uneventful, every six to eight weeks sort of event. For me, it's kind of a big deal. I think I've mentioned this before, but I absolutely HATE getting a haircut.

Hate it. Hate it. Hate it.

So, I pretty much avoid it, only getting a haircut two or three times a year. It's not such a big deal seeing as I wear my hair sort of long and all one length, but I suppose it's still a bit odd that I, who was still a woman last time I checked, hates to partake in such a basic, womanly activity. I must be missing the "likes to go to the salon and talk shoes and make-up and movies and complain about her husband and 'kids these days' and other stupid shit with the beautician" gene.

Drat.

But, every now and then I break down and submit to doing the deed. I'm rarely happy with the results, I often pay far too much, and I generally find the experience to be extremely annoying, especially the awkward attempts at conversation that beauticians must be trained to make. I've often thought that if there was a "u-scan" lane for haircuts I would be all over that. Alas, our meager human technologies are just not sophisticated enough yet.

Double drat.

The point, such as it is, is that I got my bi-yearly haircut last weekend and, surprisingly enough, it wasn't so bad. Surely enough, it was awkward, especially because I was sitting in the middle of an Aveda store, facing a giant window overlooking the entire mall (it was a breast cancer fundraiser, hence, not an authentic "salon" setting). I sat there with wet hair dangling across my face in a most unflattering way while myriad teenagers and housewives gawked as they filed past. And, of course, I take only a mediocre appreciation for the end result. However, for perhaps the first time ever, I rather enjoyed the beautician banter, most likely because my beautician, a very, very, gay man named Kai, had no interest in discussing shoes and make-up and complaining about our husbands and 'kids these days' and other dumb shit. Hallelujah.

Instead, the "conversation" was more my speed. Particularly, it involved making snide comments about the poor schlubs who walked past the window of the Aveda store. Excerpts include comments like:

"Honey, if you can't walk in those shoes, don't wear them," and

"Dear God, look at the size of that guy. And no wonder, look at that giant TV he just bought. You know all he's going to do is go home and sit on his giant ass watching that thing all day long," and

"Hmm. I didn't know that tight clothes and pregnancy were in style," and

"Hmm. I went to high school with that girl. Looks like she hasn't done anything with her life. Bitch."

Indeed, most of the comments came from Kai. Nevertheless, I enjoyed them. And yes, I made an appointment to see him again in six weeks.

I'm considering keeping it.