I’ve been going to Catalina to have my hair done for two years now. One, because she is a fabulous hair stylist and two, because her thick Columbian accent puts me to sleep. When I was wearing my hair short, I would see her once a month, but now my visits have been scaled back to every eight weeks.
We have this game that we play everytime I go in there, as we have since I joined her following. She will pretend like she has no idea that she’s ever met me before, and I’ll pretend that I hate Columbians.
The conversation, inevitably, will flow like this:
Her: Oh, mia, who cut chore hair las? Itso baaaad.
Me: I’m sorry; I have trouble understanding you with that horrid accent. Can you please speak english? You ARE in America, you know.
Eventually, I realize that I’m the only one playing the game, so I’ll cut back. But this last time, she paid me the ultimate compliment:
Me: Oh, you people all sound the same to me. You sure you don’t have a Pancho in your family?
Her: Mia, chou are just lite that Karen Walker on Weel and Grasse but notso drunk.
I can now die a happy woman.
[...] You know what I love? My hairdresser. She is so fabulous. I have more fun going to get my hair cut.. and she remembers me. From one cut to the next. It amazes me to no end. She asked me about my play, how my lobby shots looked, if Bryan’s play went well.. it’s just so cool to have a complete stranger be interested in my life. (Yes, you could counter with “You pay her, Sarah,” but you would be mistaken.. my last hairdresser and I never talked ever.. kindly.) [...]