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Monday, January 31, 2005

Mein Poodle Hat ist weg, Wiebke!

I don't know why, but I always dread the day I get a haircut. That day happened to be today. Really, if I had it my own way, I would grow my hair out until it physically is uncomfortable, and then I would cut it. But no, my parents have taken it upon themselves to somehow force me to get a haircut. They first start out by making very subtle comments about the condition of my hair and how it's getting long. For example, my dad would say something like, "Get a haircut." I would then respond with the usual grunt of disgust. This grunt is not because I don't want to get a haircut at the time, but because at that time, my dad had not yet changed from his bike ride and spandex is not really his....um....what's the opposite of dignity and redeeming traits?

Anyway, that's how they first start hinting that my hair is getting long. Then for a couple weeks it is a psychological battle of wits between my parents and I. I know I will eventually have to get a haircut, but I fight it to the death anyway. On this last haircut struggle, my mom pulled a very dastardly move. On a saturday night, she and my dad went to a movie, and just before they left, I was in the bathroom. No escape. She yelled down to me that she left 20 dollars for me for dinner and a haircut. And a haircut. She snuck those three words in such a precise and cunning manner that I have to applaud her for that. However, I myself am not lacking in my own sly and scheming craft. My original plan was to use the $20 to pay a hairstylist to make my hair look like it was cut, but not to actually cut it. It would've actually costed more like $80, but the extra sixty I would be paying out of my own pocket would be well worth it.

This plan didn't really work out. You see, I made the mistake of stopping at Big Daddy's before initiating my master plan. I ended up spending most of the money on an oingo boingo cd, and the rest I used trying to get a lobster harmonica out of one of those claw machines. I never got the harmonica, but I did manage to shake the machine a bit and make all the prizes even remotely touchable settle well out of reach. On the drive home I realised that my parents would expect my hair to be shorter and I frantically pulled on my earlobes, but to no avail. Anyway, they got really mad at me for spending all the money and stuff and made me get a haircut today.

I guess the actual haircut wasn't too bad. The only thing that gets on my nerves is how the haircutter ladies always think that they need to make small talk while they're cutting your hair. I mean, I understand them asking questions like, "how much do you want off?" or "do you EVER use shampoo?" or "Dear Lord! How long has that been living in there?!" but once they start trying to guess your life story from what kind of conditioner you use, that's pushing it. I mean, how can I be expected to talk about my day without fidgeting while someone is cutting along my ear with razor sharp scissors? The worst part though was when other customers came in and sat around me while they got their hair cut. I mean, they were talking up a storm and having a great time. This made my own hairstylist a little jealous, so she proceeded to, shall we say, get a little fresh with me. Normally, I would accept this sort of behavior with much enthusiasm, seeing as I am severally desperate for human contact. However, I had to tell her to stop it, not because her face resembled a rotting hamster carcass, but because I saw she had a wedding ring on her knarled left hand. And I don't want some hamster carcass-marrying husband to get all riled up because he thinks I'm stealing his wife. No sir, no matter how much he begs and pleads, I won't. I'm no home-wrecker.

To make a long story short, I got the haircut and stuffed myself with delicious Cafe Rio chicken burrito. I am a little worried though, because certain undisclosed people had remarked that my hair looked "cute" before I got the haircut. But maybe it'll be alright. I mean, I saw one of those undisclosed people today, after I got my haircut. They didn't actually say my haircut was "cute," but I'm sure I heard something resembling that come out of their mouth. Wait, no, that resembled cottage cheese and small bits of hotdog and corn niblets. But still.

7 comments:

The Stunningly Handsome Nate Perkins said...

Ah, isn't it great when the person you like pukes all over you? I know from experience dude. No, no I don't, but you can imagine what it would be like if I did right? Am I right?

Alex Morrise said...

One time, my mom was cutting my hair, and she cut part of my ear off. No joke--I still have the scar.

Amber Lynn said...

You are a great writer! Right on. Hey, when my little sis was 4 she cut my little brother's hair (he was three) and my little brother's ear also got sliced. Huh.

Anonymous Poet said...

Hey, thanks for stopping by my site. I appreciate it. Hope your haircut turns out OK.

The Stunningly Handsome Nate Perkins said...

I still don't believe that Ilse ever thought your hair looked cute. If Guy and your parents didn't think it looked cute, why would Ilse? It just doesn't make any sense.

Anonymous said...

Ghost Ghost ist weg!

b. robertson said...

I cut my brothers hair when I was 14. It worked out fine, except by his ears, because I was so afraid that I WOULD cut his ear. So no scars for him, but my mom had to trim it more after.