March 3, 2012 § Leave a comment
The other day I decided I was going to spend 4 hours of my afternoon sitting on a chair at my hairdresser’s, getting my hair permanently straightened. I normally have my hair straight-permed annually, but due to the pregnancy, I had been delaying it due to stories of horrible chemicals seeping in through scalp to be passed onto the baby resulting in mutant baby. I relayed this story to my doctor who pooh-poohed it and told me I can do whatever I could damn well like with my hair. So, after the baby is born, with the foresight of not having enough time to even have a shower (friends’ true stories, apparently), I thought if I’m going to be that gross body-wise, at least I should have nice hair.
Contrary to popular belief, I’ve come to discover that a good hairdresser does not necessarily have to be a trendily dressed woman with funky hair, or a gay man. My hairdresser is grossly fat, has a half-grown moustache/goatee, possesses no fashion sense, smells like stale cigarettes, and is completely un-gay (married with 2 children, even). But he is the only one who can turn my unmanageable coarse Asian hair into soft, straight, beautiful-looking hair, with an amazing cut. Thanks, Ronnie.