Hair yesterday... Gone today...

Because both Yen and I haven't cut our hair in...[ I don't know about her but I don't remember the last time I went to a hair salon] ... We duly made our way down to Jurong Point [cutting lecture in the process] to get the deed done.

This turned out to be one of the biggest [and in my opinion, most hairlarious] mistakes of Yenn's life.

Hair like mine is easy to cut, though it leaves piles of dead hair on the floor, and probably made the hairdresser's arms ache as she tried in vain to wash and condition it vigorously in the salon. I simply tell the hairdresser to snip 3 inches off, do a bit of layering, and generally leave it in the same shape, albeit shorter, that it was in. I emerge much later, with a hairdo that is much the same as my old one, but 3 inches shorter, and which feels a whole lot lighter on my head. [If it ain't broke...]

Yenn decides to try something new. And this is what I hear as I sit next to her and the hairdresser blows at my damp hair.

Hairdresser [In Chinese] : "How do you want your hair done?"
Yenn: "Can you... *hairdryer whoshes in my ear* and do it like that?"
Hairdresser: "Why don't you *whosh* and then *whosh* so it looks like *whosh?"
Yenn: "Er... Ok lor."

So far so good. We settle down to our books while the hairdressers work at our hair. Yenn's hairdresser snips industriously at her hair, while mine tugs furiously at the knots in my hair. Much later, while she is still tugging with her brush, Yenn's hairdresser does a sort of "ta-dah!" gesture and we look up to see her new hairstyle.

And stare.

And stare.

And stare.

The hairdresser seemed quite pleased with his efforts. He was like, "Isn't it fab?? You can put some gel and do this and this so it looks like this." while Yenn stared in abject shock and horror at her hair. Because my hairdresser had, by this point, finally started snipping at my hair after getting it into a semi-manageable state, she left the place first and it was only later when I finished that we met up at the arcade.

and launched into a tirade against the unholy hairdresser. Apparently she had a totally different idea of what the hairdresser wanted to do to her hair, and what he did was to cut her a rather short fringe, covering her forehead, and, in her own opinion, made her look like she was back in Primary school again. So essentially what he did was to give her a short bob, though not so cleanly cut that she looked like she was wearing a helmut.

We went back to hall, her railing against that hairdresser, vowing never to step foot within that salon again, praying that her fringe would miraculously grow overnight, while I laughed shamelessly at her follicular misfortune.