I was getting ready to go out and run some fabulous errands on Saturday and I thought to myself, Self? I'm going to treat you to a shampoo and blow dry while you're out because you fancy yourself a special pampered princess. And I was all, you know what Self? You're right, I do. And I think you're all kinds of rad for coming up with that idea; remind me to make out with you later. And my Self was all, thank you, I blush. So, before I left the house I told Mr. Farklepants, "Hey, if it's not too crowded I'm going to swing by Supercuts for a wash and blow while I'm out". And he was all, "Okay.....Did you say something?".
I know, right? Supercuts? Yeah, well I gave that a second thought as well. I thought to myself, Self? Are you REALLY going to willingly walk into a Supercuts and let them touch your hair? I tried to tell myself, Self? It's just shampoo and a hair dryer, what's the harm? And my Self was all, the harm is it's Supercuts and you could walk out of there with a pageboy and a perm. In other words; I chickened out. Not feeling like driving the whole ten miles to my hairdresser [who's not even there on Saturday anyway] I searched for and found an acceptable looking salon.
It looked a wee busy so I didn't expect my "walk-in" self to fit into their schedule. I explained what I wanted and assured them if it wasn't possible then it. was. no. biggie. Honest. I was surprised when they took me right in and sent me over to, who can only be described as, The Sourpuss. She asked my name and apparently I tried to tell her telepathically because she didn't hear me and followed up with a graceful, WHAT?!? And I was all, "It's Tootsie, ohmygod I'm so sorry. I didn't realize we were using our outside voices today". I suddenly felt a little nervous kind of like how a small child feels in the company of an intimidating adult.
Once in the sink she did a pretty good job washing my hair [in silence] until she got to the conditioner. I've got a LOT of hair. It's long and it's super thick. It's wavy and each individual strand is a fat bastard. And if you've got my hair IN YOUR HANDS this becomes a very obvious fact. Needless to say my hair requires more than the recommended dime size amount of conditioner. Also uneccessary was the amount of water used to rinse. When she sat me upright she announced, "Your hair really rats up". Uh-huh. Well, not usually, I thought. She then spent seven hours combing out my hair with a steel pick.
Then there was the sectioning off, the blowing out with a metal brush that was eating the back of my neck, and not an ounce of hair product in sight. Then she finally made it to the top section and asked which way I parted my hair. An hour later it was over. I knew this because she removed the cape that was draped around me, which I assume indicated that she was finished. Because? Let's recap, shall we? The following are the only words that came out of her mouth the entire time I was there:
- What's your name?
- Your hair really rats up
- Which way do you part your hair?
My life is so hard, right? Don't you wish you had my problems?