>A Story About Hair

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Now that everybody has met my new haircut, I will regale you with yet another story about hair. When my sister was 19, she met a thirty-one-year-old guy. Let’s call him Carlos. My sister had been living with me since she was sixteen, so I understandably felt responsible for her.
One day she went on a date with Carlos. A short time into the date, she called me on the phone. She was crying so hard that she could hardly speak. 
“Carlos is soooooo mean,” she sobbed. “I can’t believe he did this to me.”
When I heard that, I imagined every single horrible thing that a 31-year-old man can do to a 19-year-old girl. My heart plopped into my stomach and my hands started shaking. I tried to control my terror, however, in order to avoid traumatizing the child even further.
“What. . . did. . . he. . . do. . . to. . . you?” I managed to squeeze out of myself.
“It’s horrible!” she wailed. “I don’t even want to say!”
I saw images of hospitals, police stations and myself assaulting Carlos with a chainsaw flash before my eyes.
“He went to a salon and got this horrible haircut,” my sister continued.
“And??” I asked, shaking in terror.
“You wouldn’t just say ‘And?’ if you saw how ugly this haircut is!” she responded indignantly. “It’s hideous! I can’t believe he did this to me! Now I have to put up with it until his hair grows back.”
My sister and Carlos have been together for almost 10 years. They are still looking for a salon that will do justice to his great hair.

>Samson Wins a Battle with a Hairdresser

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I always cause an international scandal whenever I post pictures of my hair but I can’t avoid showing the final results of my most recent battle with a hairdresser after I have persecuted my readers with the story of my hair-related suffering.
My color isn’t quite this light.
This is just the flash from the camera
Nobody ever believes it, but both
the hair color and the
curl are completely natural
I like this picture the most because
even though you can’t see the hair very well,
I at least look intelligent here, which
almost never happens

>Hair, Again

>The Biblical character I identify with the most is Samson. Not only can I tear a lion apart with my bare hands when I get angry, I'm also afraid of repeating Samson's fate of being captured by the Philistines and being put to boring, grinding labor.

There is something else I share with Samson, which is my faith in the almost magical powers of my hair. The idea of people approaching it with scissors terrifies me. This is why I haven't had it cut for exactly three years. A hairdresser can never be trusted not to snip away an extra inch, rendering me powerless as a result. The last time I visited a hairdresser, she disregarded every single instruction I gave her. I literally cried for days after I saw the result, even though everybody I knew was kind enough to pretend they didn't notice.

After three years of avoiding hairdressers my hair has become even wilder than usual. As the summer approaches, I realized that carrying around on my head, neck, and shoulders an equivalent of a warm blanket might not be a fantastic idea.

So today I called a neighboring salon to make an appointment. I spoke to the receptionist in such a tragic voice that had anybody overheard the conversation, they might have thought I was making an appointment at a funeral parlor. I'm going to the salon tomorrow at 9 but it seems at this point that I will not be able to fall asleep for a while tonight, or possibly at all. I hope not to have a panic attack in the salon tomorrow.

Life is hard for us, the Samsons of this world.

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