I got my hair cut today and it looks damned good for the time being. I told my Polish stylist to take a little off the top and she proceeded to straighten my hair and give me a kicky postmodern do. I look like Falco. When it was done and I'd forked over my four bucks, she asked, "You have all things at home?" I assume she meant all of the equipment that was involved in the styling of my hair, which included:
designer shampooI shook my head, no. I do not have any of those things.
designer conditioner
designer gel
designer hairspray
designer mousse
designer hair putty
designer water
an electric hair straightener
a Polish hair stylist
"Oh," she said, "then hairs will change."
So, my fleeting Polish sex symbol status has already been dealt its death blow. At the stroke of midnight - when I take my midnightly Suave For Men sponge bath - my straight hair will frizz up into its usual high-entropy state and my seven hours as a slavic heartthrob will come to an end. It's almost like Flowers for Algernon. I'd better walk down to the square and make the most of this precious time. Veal kebab and coffee it is.
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