As of yesterday, it had been a year and a half since my last haircut, and, in the immortal words of Popeye, I’d had all I can stands and I can’t stands no more! It was a million and three different lengths, the ends were scraggly and dry and gross and no amount of conditioner, savage beatings with a hot iron, or prayer could make them look presentable. It was getting to the point where I would catch my hand inching toward my head whenever I was holding scissors, and to save myself a Britney Spears moment AND to celebrate hitting a rather significant weight loss target, I found myself in the cheap-o salon next to the great wall mall, which advertised men’s haircuts for $8, women’s for $11+.
Mine ended up being $13, which was a pretty damn good deal, given that I’m pleased enough with the cut even though the stylist and I could hardly understand one another save for the interrogation about what’s wrong with me that my hair is so thin. Yes, I know. I’m fat where people want to be thin and thin where people would prefer volume. I’m a walking, talking, breathing, shitting contradiction, and no, I have NO IDEA why my hair is so thin and neither does the battery of doctors I’ve visited, but it IS an excellent way to make me cry if you’re looking for a way to get in a dig. Just tell me I’m looking a little bald and that maybe Donald Trump could give me a tip or two. I’ll cry like a bitch.
Hey look, I don’t have scraggly ends hanging off my balding head down to my saggy boobs anymore!
When I started typing this post, I realized a picture would probably come in handy to illustrate my point so, hey, bathroom-cam! I couldn’t get a nonblurry one as my body is currently riddled with so much caffeine that it’s difficult to even type. Euphoria without the unsightly track marks!
Yesterday I finished up all of my Christmas gift-wrapping–Jason and I are having our own Pre-Christmas today as he flies out tomorrow to spend the holiday with family. I am hoping he likes what I’ve picked out, but if not, we’ll take it all back and buy him his body weight in socks.
I braved the mall on Monday in order to pick out some final gifts, and while I was absolutely in the foulest of foul moods when I left work, I took it out on NO ONE (I especially strive to be extra-nice to retail staff as I know how soul-crushing this time of year can be, with angry, entitled people screaming at you because you had the audacity to sell out of the product they’d come to buy and don’t you know they’ll DIE without it?!) and was actually jollied considerably. A woman at the post office complimented my santa suit manicure (pics to come) and thought it was professionally done, which is really the best sort of compliment. An employee at one store I visited exclaimed that she could not believe how polite I was and that she wished all of her customers could be like me. That’s right. I can be polite. I know it comes into question sometimes.
Of course, just before I left the mall, an employee came rushing into the store I was in and announced “Oh god, there’s another fight going on. Security has been called but you might want to wait in here for a while.” Nice, people. Way to be quality humans, fighting at a mall. For fuck’s sake!
