20 July 2018, 7.55 p.m.
Went this morning to have my long hair shortened by a couple inches and to regain my honey-brown-and-wheat streaks. An environmentally conscious man, the hairdresser uses two different lengths of silver-and-blue foil to wrap the strands of hair – long for the darker, short for the lighter strands since it’s summer vacation time and the sun would add on bleaching. Or maybe it’s the other way around. It was confusing. He worked in tandem with his wife, her constant sing-song: ”blond now? brown now?” going on as, waiting for instructions, she handed him one by one the correctly-sized silver-and-blue rectangles, while he explained how proud he was of saving foil by cutting shorter pieces and non-stop pontificated about cars, the danger of speed-limits and the value-added-tax against a background of rap over the loudspeaker.
The colors came out perfect, the blow-dry curved a few blond strands into timid curls duly admired in the large mirror I was handed to grant me a rare, unrestricted rear view of my head and the opportunity for final appreciation. As I stepped outside, the wind from the Levante blew and in no time did away with the artful arrangement.