Thursday, December 9, 2010

How to survive Head Massages and Fool your Hairdresser into Believing you are Normal

I am about 97% sure that I am the only person in the known world who inwardly cringes when my hairdresser embarks on a 20 minute long head massage.

According to my facebook poll of 3 people, the average person would kill to have their scalp fondled for 20 minutes and would gladly part with $300 for a hairdo just so they can have an excuse to sit their and get their head rubbed.

I find it unfair that I actually need to justify my hatred for being rubbed and squeezed by complete strangers in areas that are predominantly solid bone such as my skull. It's seems obvious to me:

Its. So. Awkward.

The worse thing is it comes without warning - one minute my hair is being lathered into a shampooey foam and the next minute I'm like, hello, are you making a move on me creepy 30-something year old apparently-not-gay hair artist? My forehead is being smoothed lovingly by two large thumbs and inbetween various grips on my skull my neck gets stroked.
O wait this is normal. Normal people enjoy this, thats right... it's part of the service... he's like, the most experienced professional hairdresser ever.

But his armpit. His armpit is swooping a little closer to my nose every time he reaches for more scalp. I'm not comfortable with all this physical proximity. I tell myself think positive - it doesn't smell, and he's a man. I reason with myself that probably hairdressers have access to so much free hair product they could spray liberally over their whole bodies. Maybe styling spray has surpressed his sweat glands.
I wish hairdressers could stand behind the basin when they washed my hair? But they don't. They stand OVER me from the side. The unbecoming side effect of this is that his frontal-trousal-area keeps pressing into my elbow.
Which elbow? The one clamped around my torso next to my clammy hands. This is because I am wearing a self-inflicted straight-jacket made by the vice-grip of my own arms forming a protective shell around my body. He can't see my white knuckles because they are hidden under the black cape. This is a partial success, but I am panicking.
Are my eyes supposed to be open or closed? it's really super awkward staring up at him from only 6 inches away when he is focussed intently on me.
If eyes are the windows to the soul then he might get a glipse of my true feelings about the experience if I keep them open:

Fig 1.1: I taste like brussel sprouts! For serious! Please don't eat me :(


And I wouldn't want to hurt his feelings!

But I don't want to close them and look like I'm asleep. You know, like his loving touch sent me to relaxation heaven. It might come across the wrong way
Fig 1.2: Wrong


So in my head I figure out that if I aim my eyes as far downwards as possible, like, nearly closed, they will be closed enough to seem polite, but not closed enough to be sensual. Success! Only ff you hunkered down and looked up at me, would you notice 2 shiny spots where the light reflected off my pupils, because there's a slit in my eyelids and they are officially not actually closed like they may appear. Sneaky.

Fig 1.3: He'll never guess



It's just like those people who only half close their eyes when they sleep and you don't notice until you catch them staring at you in the night and panic because they might be a werewolf.

When he asks "How does that feel?" I say "Nice"

Because he probably will think I'm a hypercondriac if I say "I'm pretty sure the basin-neck-groove is compressing my jugular" and saying "It feels creepy. Please stop." would be socially retarded. Who doesn't like a head massage, right? Right?

ME! I don't! I hate it! I feel violated! I want clean hair already! I have places to be and parking meter wardens to avoid! And... other important excuses!

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