Friday, April 15, 2011

A hairy lesson learned

As is usual lately, I’ve been a bit MIA from blogging. What could be more important that chronicling my misadventures in Germany for an unfortunately quantifiable audience that likely consists mostly of friends and family back in the States?

Well there’s cleaning the parquet brush on my Dyson, for example. 
Who doesn't love a good clean vacuum brush pic?
Or following my constipated cat around to note when he poops. What, TMI? Don’t worry, my cat probably feels the same.

But despite all of these momentous responsibilities, I’ve decided that a certain recent event deserves to be documented: I got my hair cut…at a German salon…all by myself. Well there it is. I’ll give you a moment to take all that in. I just saw my cat head to the litter box again anyway…

Okay so maybe after a few moments of deep reflection you’ve decided that my hair cut is really no big deal. Not so my friend (whoa, did I just channel a little John McCain there…yikes).

To properly convey the significance of this experience, let me back up a few days. A classmate in my German course mentioned that she’d cut her hair the night before…on her own, as in, with the scissors in her very own hands. Another chimed in that she does the same, although a bit differently. I listened in awe as they explained their various methods. Then it occurred to me, why not try it myself…it sounded simple enough. And besides, if it worked, I could put off going to a German friseur on my own and learning related the vocabulary like stufig (layered) and der pony (bangs). By the way, here’s a link to more vocab if you’re the market for a haircut in Germany.

So when I got home that afternoon, I promptly washed my hair, combed it perfectly straight and even watch a few DIY videos on YouTube for good measure.

You could say the first cut went well, if your only definition of “well” is that my hair had been cut. But not wanting to look like a subject for a beauty school staffed with six-year-olds, I kept cutting, and cutting and cutting. In the end, I succeeded only in creating the first bathroom rug comprised of 100 percent genuine human hair. There’s something for Etsy…or maybe Regretsy would be more appropriate.

But from folly sometimes come fortune, or some crap like that. Thanks to overestimating my innate stylist skills, my fear of German salons disappeared. And before I knew it, I had an appointment for first thing the next morning.

Fast forward through the 17 hours in between (which were sprinkled with cocktails and various expressions of bewilderment from Thomas), and enter Max, friseur and corrector of hideous hair creations.

I spent the next hour and half in his chair listening to snip, snipschei├če!...snip, snipwarum!?, warum!?!

And although I only understood about 70 percent of what he was saying, I realized that sometimes we have to just suck it up and go out there if we really want increased lingual comfort and fluency…or just do something stupid that requires professional help. Yeah, that works, too.

Oh, and in case you’re wondering, thanks to Max, I can now appear in public without triggering howling dogs. Here's proof:

Before and after  
Sorry, no photos of the actual "before." Some things are best left to poor illustrations.