Crazy Week, Crazy Dream…
I’ve been rather caught up in holiday preparations and such so I’m woefully behind in my blog reading and comment responding. Hopefully I’ll be able to catch up over the weekend…
Last night I had a crazy dream. Let me preface it by saying that I am in desperate need of a haircut but still have not found a hair dresser that I like, despite the fact that I’ve lived here since June of 1999… I’m also feeling a bit frustrated by the weight plateau I’ve been on for several months now…
I opened oversized glass doors with art deco-inspired brass handles and entered a very posh looking salon and spa. Most horizontal surfaces were marble and the the fixtures holding the mirrors were also art deco brass. There were large oriental looking plants everywhere to break up the large space and cut down on the noise. The air was tainted with the pungent smell of nail acrylic and acetone mixed with fancy herbal hair products.
As soon as I entered I was approached by a tall thin woman with a chunky spiky hair cut. She offered me a cappucino and asked me to take a seat in the cream wing back near the door while I waited for my stylist, Lisa.
Moments later woman with a head of full curls with an upbeat presence approached me and introduced herself as Lisa. She asked me to follow her back to the marble wash basins for my shampoon. As she was massaging my scalp she was asking me about my beauty routine. I explained that I enjoy taking time to to dress up and put on make-up and such, but that I don’t always do so, partly due to pain levels. Basically I told her that I like a cut that looks okay without blow drying and curling, but one that can benefit from primping.
Lisa cut and colored my hair (an auburn with carmel highlights) and was in the process of styling when she threw down her curling iron in disgust and declared, “I cannot work with this hair. Your terrible curling iron has ruined your hair and there is nothing I can do!” She stalked off and I went racing behind her asking what the latest development in curling irons was that I had missed. I wanted to know what was wrong with my curling iron. She wouldn’t tell me.
I finally gave up and returned to the tall lanky woman who had offered me the cappucino and started to pay for my cut, color, and half of a style. As she was inputting my services into the computer to get my total I decided to ask her about the curling irons they use. I figured she’d tell me because it seems at salons they are always trying to sell you products in addition to your services. Well, she stopped typing and pulled back a large curtain…
Behind the curtain was this HUGE contraption that looked vaguely like a slightly oversized staircase. At the very top was a large red LED read out. She said I needed weigh myself on it and my weight divided by 10 revealed how many visits I needed to make to the salon before I got one of their magic curling irons. I climbed onto the first step and the read out blinked “PROCEED UP.” It continued to read that until I was at the top step and had to crouch in order to not hit my head on the ceiling. The the read out blinked “NOT WORTHY!” When I descended the tall lady informed me that I was much too fat and too unfashionable to be worthy of their curling irons. Then she kindly asked me to never return to their salon.
Then I awoke…
