thug life

chris rene

The one where I let a thug cut my hair...

Today I let a wannabee thug cut my hair. I wasn’t aware that said hair stylist would be of the hoodlum persuasion, especially since it’s one of the nicer salons in the Winston-salemey area, and also because he was recommended to me by my dear friend lacey.

Let’s preface this story by saying that, when I lived in Raleigh, I had the BEST HAIR STYLIST EVER.  Tony could work magic with his hands and turn my gross, straightener damaged hair into something that was actually flattering.  Because of the magnitude of Tony’s awesomeness, I haven’t cut my hair since moving back home, and it was starting to look similar to a place that rats might make their home.  So, with trepidation, I made an appointment with my bestie’s stylist.  For the purpose of this story, let’s call him Chainz, since he had one around his neck and one on his wrist.

As another side note, whenever I go somewhere like the doctor or hair salon, I dread the moment when the person asks about my life. One, because people automatically assume I’m in high-school, and two, because telling people that you work as a missionary is always super awkward.

In this case, homeskillet asked me what I had done for New Years, where I attempted to explain that I was at a Christian conference with college students and that we had a New Year’s party there. 

“So when you say there was a ‘big party’, was there, like, alcohol and popping bottles and stuff?”

“Ummmm… not really… I mean…most of the kids were underage…and it’s a Christian company…and…stuff…”

“Oh. That’s straight. I don’t think drinking age should matter though; it’s New Years.”

Sigh.

At any rate, I’m pleased with the job Chainz did on my hair, even if I did have a brief fantasy about driving to Raleigh and begging Tony to take me back.

In other news:  I’m taking a break from facebook right now, so if you’re reading this post, it means that you actually check to see if I update my blog and are my true friend. And you win a prize.

Peace, love, and gold grillz.

Little j