At least I had cake.
Once upon a time, approximately yesterday, a young woman in a pink track suit began her first day at work at a beauty salon. It was all going well until just around lunch time, a customer came in for a hair cut. The customer said hello, and she had brought along a friend and asked her for a little trim. The lady nodded, sat the customer down, and broke out the scissors.
After a few minutes of snipping, the customer resembled what happens to barbie dolls when bad little girls play with scissors. Or maybe weed-whackers.
And the customer called Hemmie (who was out walking Bebeface) and the customer called HF, and the customer called Daddy, and the customer has to admit she even cried, but she couldn’t help it, it was just that bad. (She had just come in for a trim, not to have her head chopped in to a sideways mullet)
And after a bit of discussion two things were concluded:
1. The pink track suit lady, although nice, was not actually a trained beautician of any sort, and lied to get the job.
2. The salon would pay for the customer to get her hair fixed somewhere else.
And then the customer went home, hopped into a car and sat through an hour of Dubai traffic to wait an hour and a half for a turn in a very busy, very nice salon, and then told her sob story to the old beautician (whose name was Hermie) who looked through her glasses (which were hung on a string around her neck) at the customer and said, “Oh my God, what was she doing…?”
And there was much snippage, and much concentration, and much more snippage to even out the damage, and Hermie finally brushed and blow-dried the customer off and pronounced it a success, at least what was left of it anyway.
Ok, so there were some high points in this misadventure. Hemmie not only provided free babysitting, but also much needed emotional support throughout the ordeal. And HF left his office work to magically appear with cake and hugs. And Daddy did the drive to Dubai, the two hour wait with Khalid, and then the drive back.
By Zeba The End.