A New Year means new hair, so this afternoon in Miami I set off to the barbershop. After waiting for around half an hour, battling staring patrons and barbers, I was finally called. Half an hour later the mimi-fro is gone and my scalp doeth heartily rejoice. Also I think the creepy quiet dude that cut my hair was hitting on me. Why did he need to know if I had kids? Then, after inquiring about my invisible boyfriend, he asked if we could be friends…. ummm is HELL NO an option?
PS: if I dated a barber this would be so much easier… but not him, he was like 38.