I have never in my life enjoyed going to get my hair did. I never know what I want, and chatting with some stranger who is holding scissors awfully close to my eyeballs just isn't my idea of fun. I managed to avoid the whole dreaded process for years by cutting my own hair, or by only going the absolute minimum number of times per year possible. Then, right before Mr. Husband and I got married, I went and got myself some highlights.

That was the end of the very occasional torture.

Mr. Husband lurves himself the blondy streaks. Since I never actually know what I want, I more or less of go with the status quo on the whole issue, figuring that at least I'm appeasing him. That pretty much means I can blame him for every second of torture I endured today.

I don't have a hair chick or hair guy. I just haven't found someone that strikes me as so wonderful as to want to return to them. So I wander. Today I wandered to an OK hair chick, but OK Hair Chick was a little overbooked and had to elicit help from Really Not OK Hair Chick. I had to deal with Really Not OK Hair Chick during the whole wash cycle. The longest wash cycle of my entire life.

Really Not OK Hair Chick instantly made me want to stab my eardrums with a sharp object. She didn't end sentences with a period like a normal person. Nope. Instead, she ended every.single.sentence with a giggle. Even sentences that weren't funny. Here's a sampling of our conversation. (Side note: I usually would tune out this kind of junk, but because I love YOU, I made my brain stay in the game. You're welcome.)

NROKHC: Is that your natural hair color, giggle giggle?
Me: Uh, which one? (Dudes. Highlights. There are like 50 colors in my hair.)
NROKHC: Oh, it's just such a pretty color, giggle giggle!
Me: Ummm, thanks?
NROKHC: Are you married, giggle giggle?
Me: Yes.
NROKHC: Me, too, giggle giggle! I was all anti-marriage and stuff, giggle giggle. But then I met my prince, giggle giggle.
Me: ?
NROKHC: I just told him he saved me from being that old cat lady with like, giggle giggle, 50 cats, giggle giggle.
Me: ?
NROKHC: I tell people all the time, just wait, giggle giggle, because your prince is out there somewhere, just like you thought when you were a little girl, giggle giggle.
Me: ? (Too busy wondering who the h#ll married Giggles to respond. She didn't notice.)
NROKHC: Do you have any kids, giggle giggle?
Me: Yeah, a two-year old.
NROKHC: Oh, that must be so fun, giggle giggle.
Me: Um, yeah.
NROKHC: (Suddenly clutching my skull in her hands) OH, giggle giggle! You are so stressed, giggle giggle!
Me: ? (Frankly, I was trying very hard to block out the boobs and armpits that were invading my space, so yeah, maybe a bit stressed. I don't really aspire to be blinded by some giggly chick's boob and I have no interest in checking to see if her deodorant is working. Over and over.)
NROKHC: I guess two is a really hard age, giggle giggle. Isn't it, giggle giggle?
Me: Actually, my kid is pretty good. (Seriously, we hit the jackpot with this one.)
NROKHC: Oh, giggle giggle. You are just SO stressed, giggle giggle. (STILL clutching my skull, tighter than Britney is clutching her sanity, by the way.
Me: Not really.
NROKHC: Wow, giggle giggle! Your hair color is just so pretty, giggle giggle!

And then my head exploded. Or she finished. Whatever.

The Toddler did, however, help me to reassemble my grey matter. The second we were reunited, she was kind enough to tell me that I was pretty over and over and over. I told you we hit the jackpot with that one.