looks can be deceiving

my blogmate convinced me to blow off my responsibilities this morning in favor of serving as moral support for the pick-up of her injured car from the body shop. in exchange, i used the trip to the north side and time off work to get a much-needed haircut.

wandering down broadway perusing my options (quickly avoiding anything with "salon" or "coiffeur" and mulling over "cost-cuttery" and "supercuts") i stepped into the cheapest one i could find with the largest array of product in the window (supercuts). as i waited my turn, i assessed that my choices of hairstylist would be either the pierced tattooed guy with the man-pixie 'do, or the cute woman with the head full of beautiful curls. since i have, well, less beautiful curls than that, i quietly kept my fingers crossed for the curly-haired woman to be ready when it was my turn.

fifteen minutes later, i was sitting happily in the chair of the man-pixie having my layers fixed amid a discussion of which was a worse drunken college activity: drunk-dialing your ex, making a mix tape of all the versions of bizarre love triangle you could get your hands on, or drunk-dialing your ex in order to play for them a mix tape of all the versions of bizarre love triangle you could get your hands on. our conversation hit a natural pause, and only then did i notice another customer, clearly in awkward agony, sitting in the chair of the beautiful curly-haired woman as she expounded upon the various ways in which her virus had caused her to have warts in her private area, and how she could have had it for years, and how it could affect her cervix. as i desperately tried to come up with a new conversation subject to not overhear any more about genital warts, the man-pixie muttered to me, "this is getting old. i've heard this topic several times already."

i win.