La vita bella.

I’ve been doing a nauseating number of girly things lately. And since I have little else to talk about, I’m going to tell you about them over the next few days.

I know. Get excited.

Today you get to hear about how I finally decided to man up and actually get my hair cut. It’s been a year and a half since my former stylist turned me into the cutest little boy toddler you ever did see, and I seriously had to do something about it.

I found a place that looked pretty and had amazing online reviews and I figured if I could tell Pretty Salesguy about my skin I could definitely make sure that I didn’t end up with the bob from hell like the last time I had my hair styled.

(Oh, that’s right, you don’t know about Pretty Salesguy yet. Tomorrow.)

I got there and there was the ubiquitous annoying girl with too much makeup- “Did you want anything to drink?” No, thank you. I’m okay. And here, wipe some of that gunk off your eyes. Your daddy won’t love you any more with sparkly cheeks.

My stylist person was a little bit late. Not a big problem and I really didn’t care except I had, for once, forgotten a book. I mean, I had my phone, so it’s not like I was just left staring judgmentally at the girl with the body glitter. But I couldn’t turn off the student part of me that was all, “It’s been fifteen minutes. I could have read about something in that fifteen minutes. I have to write a huge paper of indeterminate length next semester about the modern papacy and I could have done serious research in this time…”

Easy there, crazy person.

It turned out fine- I was quite happy with the actual cut. Which doesn’t look that much different except shorter and prettier layers and THANK YOU THAT’S WHAT I WANTED.

There were a few awkward moments when the lady tried to ask me what I did for a living.  And I had to attempt to explain the complexities of the academic world to someone who really didn’t understand without sounding like a snob and that’s really hard to do because I’ve been told I sometimes sound like a snob like whenever I open my mouth and you know what? Yes, I’m a teacher. Sure, I’ll be doing student teaching when I graduate. No, I would not like to buy the $43 conditioning system. I’m just going to keep talking about how I’m poor and maybe that will make me feel like less of a bitch.

(I really wasn’t being a snob. That $9 tip I gave her? $9 more than I earned this week.)

However, I got a little angry when once again this stylist felt the need to enlighten me to the condition of my hair. “It’s quite dry. And coarse. And damaged. And you’d be perfect candidate for the new Keratin straightening treatment.”

Yeah. I know. I’ve had this dry, coarse, damaged hair for 23 years. Look at my skin, lady. It’s PEELING. I drink gallons of water a day and I still provide most of Nivea’s North American profits.

And the new keratin straightening treatment? You mean the new, not-FDA approved chemical peel for your hair that costs hundreds of dollars and lasts for about six weeks?

(Although I could forgive her for that since there was a SEVENTH GRADER getting the same thing done in the next chair. What 12-year-old needs chemically straightened hair?)

You really don’t understand the whole “I’m a grad student” thing, do you?


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