Can I Just Get My Hair Did And Live?

Y'all. I have some seriously funny shit to tell you. This stuff just can't happen to anyone but me. Here's what had happened...

So, it was time for me to get my hair done. Hooray! I look forward to that day-it's my special time to just get pampered and come out looking great. In my excitement, I locked my keys in the car. "Ok, no big deal," I tell myself, because "it always takes Triple A a long time to respond, so I'll just call them now. I'll be in the salon for a couple of hours anyway, so as I'm finishing, they should be arriving." Ahem. I place the call and saunter into the fabulous salon.

I sat down in the stylist's chair. My Italian trained hair sorceress had just draped me in the cape and fastened a towel around my neck. The phone rang. Triple A, informing me that it would be about 75 minutes before help arrived. "Great, thanks!" I chirp and settle in for some much needed hair dresser gossip.

Twenty minutes later, the phone rings again-this time it's the locksmith saying that he's outside and could I please come help him. Ugh. Great. I'm in a freaking beauty cape with blue tin foil in my hair, looking like a cross between a wet rat and leftovers. Naturally, the locksmith busts out laughing and cannot contain himself for a good while.

"What are you doing, man?"
"I'm maintaining my natural haircolor, obviously."
He shakes his head, continues to laugh, and informs me that I will "be the win in the pool today for weirdest thing" a driver has seen.
OK-I can take that.

Literally a minute later, Natasha from The Lounge drives up, looking hungover to the hilt. "You sure look pretty, sister," she sneers. Sous chef Wick pulls in a moment later, and says "You look a mess, guy," and walks into work. Another line cook arrives for duty and just says, "Really, girl." Obviously my fabulous salon is adjacent to The Lounge. Glad I could be some comic relief for them.

After I finish helping the locksmith, I return to my "relaxing day of beauty." Soon, it was time time to rinse out my naturally sunkissed hair. At the sink, she has me lean back into the nice relaxing ....SHOWER. She soaked me in freezing cold water and sprayed half of the salon while she was at it. Apparently she didn't realize that she'd wet me, because she immediately begins to towel off herself and the floor! Another stylist came to my aid, felt me up royally in the process, and offered to "dry my shirt" while my girl finished up the job. I politely declined.

We are all in uproarious laughter, nearing tears at this point. To add injury to insult, so to speak-she tries to seat me in the chair once again for my runway model cut, and nearly breaks my foot in half with some sort of equipment and cording in the process! It was then, that I prayed, "Can I just get my hair did and live??"

Perhaps the prayer was heard, because I have fabulously hued, razor cut hair. On the way to the bank after my bizzare day of beauty, I saw a truck with the advertisement of "DesignACasket.com-Make it personal!" Thankfully, I don't have to call that number yet...