I was Bellying. As any pregnant (or formerly pregnant) woman will tell you,
pregnancy makes you hot. A pregnant friend mentioned over the weekend that she
hadn’t seen sleeves in months (and this is the rainy season). Less hair on my
head was psychologically cooling.
Almost
two years passed before my next haircut. No time, no urge, too many pretty hair
clips.
I went to David’s. (I will not
mention which branch.) The hair guy was distracted by how bored he was with his
life, and proceeded to tell me about it in an entertaining, brisk manner. He
seemed to believe that dramatic gestures with his scissors were all it took to
layer my hair. I left amused, but still not
satisfied.
Tonight I went to Propaganda.
As Oreo inspected my hair, his eyebrows twitched. I said, “It’s bad, isn’t it.”
He said, “Whoever cut it even cut this way!” stabbing the air with his scissors
in what was presumably a very wrong direction. His cutting was very thoughtful,
and more importantly, his sectioning was precise. My layers are now behaved and
I don’t miss my hair clips (well, I’m sure I will next week, but I am happy
now).
