For the last...ummmm....since I've arrived in France... I've been dreading getting my hair cut. My hair is one of my top three favorite parts of my body (moreso 'extension' than 'part', but alas...) and a decently large part of my confidence and who I am. So as my four month mark in France began to roll around, I realized I really really needed to do something about my scraggly locks. For the last three weeks about, I have been talking to anyone and everyone about how I need a haircut, how I'm scared to get a haircut, how I'm stressed about it, and just general things involving hair that no human should ever talk to another human about at length more than one time. I told a friend for probably the 6th time since we met a mere 2 weeks ago that I was nervous about my upcoming haircut, to which he replied "Oui, je vois" which, coincidentally was also the point at which I realized I have no social skills.  

A "Before" selfie for your viewing pleasure; also an example of lack of social skills

ANYWAYS, my friend said her friend knew of a really cheap beauty school which is pretty good, and I felt that this woman was a pretty trustworthy source because she's a real adult with a family and a house and makes a pretty delicious meatloaf-type food with nuts and oats in it (and it's still pretty good even with those things included). So I made an appointment, made sure to tell everyone I knew that I had made said appointment, and quickly ran over some vocab with my flatmate so as to avoid looking like an idiot. 

So off I biked to the coiffeur, arriving a cool 10 minutes en retard (oops). I quickly checked in with the lady at the front desk, who proceeded to make a big deal about a little vocab mishap I made saying "Ça va arriver....petit a petit" in the most condescending manner possible (can you tell already who the villian of this story will be?).  As my hairdresser student washed my hair, I made sure to check out the rest of the client/hairdresser relationships and I noted a wonderful trend of absolute silence.  I hate talking to hairdressers. Maybe I'm weird. But really, if you actually like it, then you're the weird one telling a stranger all the intimate details of your life just because he/she happens to be touching your hair.

So I make sure to explain everything I wanted EXACTLY how I had practiced and the girl got started. Among the very few words shared between us included this segment: 
Everything was going fine and dandy and she finished the "brushing" at which point I realized she hadn't touched my bangs. Not wanting to deal with unnecessary verbal exchanges with anyone, I decided to let it slide and imagined what I could do with my long untouched bangs. After the brushing, she eventually remembered that I had asked for side bangs and snipped off a tiny bit from one side then called over what appeared to be the maitresse of the salon. 
Yes, the conversation was that short, and yes it was that awkward. So after maitresse took matters into her own hands, I shut my eyes so as to avoid getting little bang hairs in my eyes. Mistake. I wish I could recount to you all what happened after I opened my eyes, but I'm pretty sure I quickly delved into a blackout state of rage/confusion/embarassment because of my weird bangs and the rest was just a blur.

The unhappiest of Mings

Classy

ming.