I went yesterday to get my hair cut and styled for the first time in a year. I don't make it very often, but every time I do, I realize that I could never be a hairdresser. It's not because I don't know how to use scissors, a brush, or a blow-dryer, or even that I don't know how to wash someone's hair in the perfect water temperature.
My problem is much deeper than that. You see, as I lay with my head hanging over the funny little sink with my nose positioned very close to the hairdresser's armpit as she washes my hair, I am reminded that my calling was never to do hair. I wouldn't be able to live with myself knowing that I tend to sweat more than the typical, delicate female, and sometimes... just sometimes my armpits smell a bit.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
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