the only thing worse
than bad memories
is no memories at all..
[dismemberment plan]
7.15.2007
Greetings. I am a Sigh-Borg.
(I have been sighing a lot lately.)
Dear Korean Lady who Cut My Hair Yesterday,
Hi. You're funny, you know that? I asked you to please not cut my hair too short, to make the ends blunt and thick, and only a few layers.
Instead, you've given me some kind of flat, thin, very sad Asian mullet. Business in the front, party in the back. But not any kind of party I'd like to be invited to. An awkward party. I imagine that at this awkward party, there would be a group of fat people playing naked Twister in someone's smelly basement, and suddenly, a poo magically appears on one of the red dots on the Twister mat. A very quiet, unassuming poo. Then everyone silently de-contorts their limbs, steps away, scratching their heads, and mumbles unclear excuses to leave like, "I forgot, I just remembered I was going to get a haircut today..."
That brings me back to my original topic. This terrible haircut you gave me. Why? I pointed out a few photographs in the outdated and greasy Vogue issue you had on the table. Maybe you thought that by me pointing at the photographs and asking you to give me that hairstyle, I actually meant, "Hey, can you make me look nothing at all like the women in these photos? Oh, how about a mullet? Now that would be delightful! Perhaps you can fashion me a fancy merkin from the hair sweepings on the floor, using my tears as glue. How splendid."
Not that I cried. I wouldn't give you that satisfaction. The last time I cried after a haircut, I was... Well, fine, I was 20 years old. I was weaker then.
I also don't know why you assumed that I can't understand Korean -- either that, or you think I'm deaf or retarded. You asked me in Korean if I'd like my ends to be straight or flipped a little, and when I responded with a thoughtful, "Umm," you asked me the same question in Korean again, except more loudly and much more slowly, using very intricate hand motions.
Perhaps you can make those hand motions into a career, as a professional shadow puppeteer, a sign language-er, or as a manual fluffer (though I hear fluffers are a myth, sorry). But please, do not pick up a pair of scissors around me, ever again, please. I mean, "prease."
[Peek-a-Foo]