Because of a blasted hair cut
25-04-06 14 30
I did it AGAIN. I instructed the petite hairdresser to make sure I can see a significant difference in my hairstyle. She obeyed my instructions to the word. From the working apron tied around her dainty waist, the hairdresser whipped out shiny, metallic cutting devices that cropped off clunks of hair clinically. In a few minutes' time, even the seriously short-sighted and myopic me can visualise a stranger from the stunned reflection in the huge mirror. Mirrors don't lie, you know. Except those screwed-up changing room mirrors in certain apparel stores.
Damn, I can't even define myself. I'm a pathetic specimen of a undefined status creature. Forget about feminine graces, those I never possess and definitely not in this horrifying instance. The miserable mass of hair can't even pass for a neat crew cut.
I mumbled furiously under my breath. A few more snips and I could rectify this mortifying hair into a spikey mob. I can tolerate a spikey hairdo but not a limp, bodyless flop of hair.
The hairdresser shifted between my left and right, working dilligently at creating layers on my hair. I wrestled with the counter strategy in my mind, suppressing the urge to scream "STOP!" I wasn't sufficiently drunk in my misery to holler at the hairdresser and her nimble fingers. I continued staring helplessly at the reflection. You know, she looked like she can't wait to get her hands on an authentic wig.
At long last, the hairdresser completed her mission. I put on my glasses slowly, reluctant to glimpse at myself. I surveyed my hair wryly. This lady is good with her craft.
"Is this hairstyle to your satisfaction?" She asked politely.
"Yes, it is. Thank you," I replied, forcing a halfhearted smile on my lips.
"Erhm..." I called out hesitantly to the lady who had lowered her head to reach for a pair of scissors to snip off a stray strand off my fringe.
"Yes?"
I played with the thought of shortening my hair into a spikey hairdo. The others are going to think I've relapsed and gone mad again. That's the least of my worries, it's the effort of changing the way I dressed, accessories and shoes etc to pull off the punky hairdo. I had been there, done it. The fired up desire that surged through my pulse a year ago had vanished like vapour. There wasn't the rebellious streak. I just wanna be normal; to blend in. I know that probably sounds like a weakling talk but it's much easier to follow the lead and say baaaa. The M from a year ago would have scoffed at this idea and snorted in disgust.
"Nothing. Thank you for the haircut. How much do I have to pay you?"
It's alright. Time to dig up the wax, clay & hair liquid that have gathered dust from months of neglect and seriously fix up a decent hairstyle.
(Sigh) I wish I sound more convincing than the optimistic, foreign cheeping.
posted by Michelle at
5:01 PM
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