Haircut

            Some people find a certain joy in going to the salon and have their hair done. Aside from having a nice, relaxing time of having someone make you feel prettier, you get some chika from the hairstylist assigned to you. Of course the level of service depends on the price. If one has no qualms about the price, they go to pricey salons and get the best service their money can give them. Ah… the level of satisfaction. This reminds me of Economics 102… wait. What the hell am I saying? 

            I don’t like having my hair cut. Na da. Even a simple trip to the salon for a semi-regular trim scares me, no, terrifies me.

            One morning, I went to Index salon to have ‘first haircut for the year 2007’.  I went alone. A guy (or gay) hairstylist was assigned to me. I sat down, trying to feel as comfortable as I can. I think I was the first customer of the day. 

            Hairstylist: How old are you madam?

            Me: I’m 18. (Inner voice: MADAM!?! You called me madam?!?) 

            I know he’s trying to make me feel comfortable. And asking about my age is, uh, pretty normal for me. Many people say I look way younger than my age. But calling me madam? Call me sensitive, but that term sounds ‘old’ to me. I’d rather have him call me mademoiselle (French term for Miss). It’s no big deal though, it’s just that my ears reacted in a certain way, just like when I had those French classes when I was in high school. I didn’t take it seriously. I know it’s easier for most people to pronounce madam than mademoiselle. Moving on…

            Everyone in the salon kept calling me madam for the next 30 minutes. In my mind, I just wanted to get this haircut done. The feeling of terror is starting to get me.

Remarks I always get when I go to the salon:

§         “Madam, you know, you should get a short haircut. Your hair eats all the nutrition your body needs!”

§         “Ma’am, I think you should get a hair spa / re-bond / cellophane/ *put any hair treatment here* so that your hair would look better! May promo po kami nagyon…”

§         “Madam, you really need a short haircut.” 

            My answer:

§         I really like my hair long. And my being thin runs in the family (and I think long hair suits me better).

§         I know my hair looks like a dead plant, but I don’t have the money for any of your treatments.

§         Just give me a layered haircut will you?

            I had my haircut. And I wasn’t happy. My hair is now a lot shorter, and I didn’t get the style that I want (Wait, do I really know what cut I want? Or it’s just that I don’t know what term they use for that certain haircut? Uhm…). Hairstylists really have a demented sense of length. Tell them you want 2 inches off and they’ll chop off four.

            I boarded the LRT, feeling bad. Wanting but not wanting to have a haircut   while having PMS is a bad, bad combination. At least I got some dead ends cut. But still, I really feel bad.

            I met up with my boyfriend at SM Manila. He didn’t really notice my “new” haircut. I need to feel good about my hair.

            Me: “Meow, I did something.”

            Bernard: “What?” 

            Me: “I had a haircut.”

            He said it looks good (Still, waahh!!!). I still feel bad. So I went to quantum and wasted 6 tokens. Dance Mania - Drum Mania – Paraparadise. Now I feel better. Dancing Mad Blast at DM feels good when you’re having a bad day.

            I’m still afraid of having a haircut.