one week’s wages (or why i love my hair dresser)

1. She saves me from myself.

Not only did she refuse to make me a redhead (You just don’t have the coloring, honey), she refused to cut off my hair. (Not in my chair. People PAY for this hair. How about a trim?) We compromised at three inches.

2. The head massage.

It’s like sex. Only, in a chair with your head in the sink, and all your clothes are on and… well, so, it’s nothing like sex except that it feels wicked awesome and is administered by a very cute boy with shiny black shoes and golden fingers.

3. The result.

I want to pet myself endlessly. And take myself on a date. Wow, that’s pathetic, now isn’t it??

10 comments to one week’s wages (or why i love my hair dresser)