For me it takes the form of a mirror. Namely, the mirror you have to sit and stare into as you are bedecked in an awful velcro cape, while having your hair cut.
The lighting is too bright, and that’s about the time I start telling myself I need to wear make up more often…. and a lot of it. And I need lipo just under the first chin… and Damn! Are those bags getting worse?! Could these chairs get any smaller? And since when did everything just jelly over like that? (umm, about puberty, I think)
The only thing keeping me in that chair is the soothing feeling of my wet hair being systematically combed out gently down my shoulders and back.
I would pay for that shit daily if the sight in the mirror wasn’t so uncomfortable.
After the cut, I was offered to be blown dry….. well, who turns that down?
“It’ll cost more”
Ain’t that the truth?
“Go for it.”
That was my relaxation today, folks. No massage, no pedicure, no facial. Just my hair being combed and blow dried all at the hands of a nearly mute hair stylist, godbless’er.
And then the thought occurs to me, “Why haven’t I trained my children to do this for me in the form of ‘Lets play hair salon’?!”
I have seriously missed the boat on training these mini people to be my minions!
Sarcasmica 