|Source: Hair Flick|
Thanks to Marianne, my inevitable meeting with the hairdresser finally pushed through yesterday. The only straight male member of the salon crew and I labored for seven gruelling hours of hair pulling, blowing, hot oiling, straightening, trimming, shampooing and treatment, and more than once did I nearly cry bloody murder because it felt like he was tearing my scalp off. On the other hand, I have to give it to him for working hard on my rather challenging thick and unruly mane.
Salon visits are a bittersweet experience for me due to mostly open-mouthed shock and dread my hair forces out of the pros, matched with comments like, “Ay kulut ka ati?” and “Dyusku, ang kapal ng buhuk!” that it’s enough to shake my fist at the gods for giving me this unique “gift”. But in spite of its unruly nature, my hair has a way of allowing itself to be tortured into submission so I often walk out of the salon looking slightly different, if not better, and a bit triumphantly smug about the fact that mane-wise, I am not entirely hopeless.
There have been too many times when I wanted to just let it have its curly way, but having to spend countless hours of combing and tying my hair every morning can take its toll so I decided that I’d be better off in wash-and-wear mode. No scrunchies and pony tails for quite a few months. Uhmm…yay…(re-)Bond girl ini!