eyebrows
need some help, poor dear – just look at those
nails!” to justify the agonizing amounts of time
and money we spend on our own self-beautification. If
the next woman who walks through the parlor door looks
like Swamp Thing while I look like Miss World, then
it’s all worth it!
I do confess, too, to sneaking
peeks at the other clients at the salon when I’m
there. I’ve grouped the clients into roughly three
categories. First there’s the Slob, who rolls
out of bed and comes to the salon, expecting the beautician
and her minions to perform all the tasks that her mother
should have taught her to do in kindergarten. Next is
the Poor Fool, who entrusts herself blindly into the
hands of the beautician, enters looking normal and exits
looking like either Madonna or an extra in Moulin
Rouge; and then there is the Beauty Queen, who
already goes into the salon looking perfect and just
wants everyone there to admire her beauty know-how –
the money she spends is basically for praise and reassurance
that she knows all the tricks and coming to the parlor
is just a formality.
Getting laughed at by your fellow clients,
however, is nothing compared to being attacked by over-eager
salon employees at the swankiest salon in town who think
their job extends to giving you a full-body appraisal
and telling you each and every thing that is wrong with
you, and then suggesting more and more expensive treatments
to fix each “problem”.
“Oh my God, your hair…”
“Er… what’s wrong with it exactly?”
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