My mother and I like to go places together. Especially if it involves my hair because she has great moral support and honest opinions regardless if I follow them.
Sometimes she hangs out in the waiting area reading outdated People magazines, but most of the time she wanders over to the chair to make sure I haven't started crying yet. When I'm having something spunky done at the Hair Police, she likes to start conversations with the people who left their (or any) natural hair color around the time they got their third non-ear piercing.
A snipit from last night between Mother and Lady McBlueHair:
McB: "Yeah, so I know this super hot girl who's like gorgeous and a model and has her own clothes line and whatever. And get this: she's a mechanic."
Mother: "Really?"
McB: "Yeah, she'll like call me and we'll talk about clothes and stuff and then I'll complain about a car problem and she'll be like, 'Yeah, it's your carbarator, bring it by my house and I'll fix it for you.' I think it's so hot."
Mother: "Yeah...that is hot."
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2 comments:
oh, too funny! i know how the 'ends up in tears' hair appointments go... why is hair always so dramatic?
pattaserie
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