So I had a hair appointment today, and Closeted Jonathan and I made the Big Decision.
I am now Officially Growing My Hair Out.
It went like this: I flopped down in his chair and sighed, “Jonathan. I’m having a dilemma.”
“You’re at the crossroads, aren’t you, honey? To grow or not to grow?”
He is so right-on. And so very very gay. So I shared all of my concerns: it would be too flat, it wouldn’t move around my head, it would make my face look fat, it would be a pain in the ass to style.
“No, no, we can take care of all of that. It’ll be great. Let’s grow it. You only live once, right?”
He’s absolutely right, as usual. So Jonathan and I, we entered a new era. I told him to go for it.
He tapped his scissors thoughtfully. Messed with my hair. Flipped the parts around. Finally, he announced, “Okay. I have a Plan of Action.” And away he went with the scissors.
End result? Tres cool. I have this Gillian Anderson circa Playing by Heart/X-Files thing going on that I’m sure I’ll never be able to recreate on my own, but for today it kicks ass.
But before that came the trauma.
See, The Salon (which is actually called that – “The Salon”) has a new shampoo girl, whose name is Algae or something similar. Denise, the former awesomely psychic shampoo girl of the gentle hands, is out on maternity leave. So now we have Algae. She’s very nice, but-
Algae makes conversation while she’s washing your hair, but she hasn’t learned to project over the water yet so you can’t hear anything she says but you sense that she’s speaking so you just say “uh-huh” a lot. Algae pronounces Aveda like “A-VEE-lee-a” but thinks that the rosemary conditioning treatment is just aces. Algae uses about two handfuls too much of the A-VEE-lee-a shampoo and wonders why it takes forever to rinse out, blaming my thick hair. Algae worships my stylist and says all the ladies want him. “Yeah, to cut their hair,” I say, knowing that Algae hasn’t caught on to Jonathan’s sexual preference yet. She laughs. She tells me that she’s going to try to squeeze most of the water out of my hair to make Jonathan’s job easier and proceeds to viciously YANK my sweet tresses through the towel numerous times while I actually cringe in discomfort.
But this was all nothing compared to the weirdest thing Algae did while she was shampooing my hair.
See, Algae accidentally smothered my face with her large left breast while she was shampooing me.
I’m chilling. My eyes are closed. Under normal circumstances I adore having my hair washed and use those few minutes as relaxation time. So I’m relaxing, right? And then I feel pressure on my face and I can’t breathe so well any more.
I open my eyes to find that my face is entirely covered by Algae’s voluminous breast. Her boob is on my face. Her BOOB is ON my FACE.
I don’t know what to do. I’m lying there very very still, trying not to like breathe on her tit or anything, because I don’t want to freak her out.
But then the absurdity of what I’m doing hits me and my greatest urge is to giggle uncontrollably.
But I’m trying not to do that either, with little success.
Finally Algae finishes her extensive head massage and straightens up, removing her boob from my face and I seriously just sit there for a second and start cracking up.
And she apparently thinks it completely normal for a chick to sit giggling in the shampoo chair after a possibly-accidental boob smothering, because she never once asks me why I’m laughing.
Beware of shampoo girls (is there a more PC term for it?) named Algae. Seriously.