Sweat, Perspiration, and the Like

I had to completely change clothes yesterday after my haircut...and not only because I was, like usual, covered with hair.  I was also totally drenched in my own sweat.  There's just something about sitting under a handful of bright lights, wearing an unbreathe-able cape, and having to talk about my hair using as-technical-as-I-can-be terms that makes salty water seep from my pores.

I knew it was going to happen as soon as I sat down.  As I was explaining what I wanted, I noticed a gleam in the mirror.  Unfortuanately, the gleam was not a result of Windex Plus.  The gleam was coming from the pores in my face that appeared to be leaking.  I immediately sprang into action.

"I didn't wash my hair this morning.  Can you wash it?" I asked.  I was convinced that getting my head wet would cool me off.  So while my head was being scrubbed, I half-heartedly engaged in conversation all the while thinking cool thoughts to prevent any future perspiration.

To no avail.

I returned to the chair perspiring as if I had just finished a 5K.  I could tell she was slightly disturbed that even though she had dried off my forehead, it seemed to be wet again.

Attempting to be unashamed of my glistening issue, I requested a magazine with which to fan myself. Much to my delight, my hairdresser was also thankful for the light breeze.

I thought, and hoped, I was out of the woods.  My body temperature was lowering and I was feeling conversational once more.

Much to my dismay, however, she wasn't about to let me leave the salon with wet hair.  (Sadly, it's still debatable whether my hair remained wet so long due to the shampooing or due to the salty excretion.) Never in my life have I dreaded receiving a professional "blow-out" more than I did at that moment.  I fanned myself feverishly.  She blow-dried (blew-dried??) like there was no tomorrow.

By this point, my cape had been removed and I sat in that little spinny chair...vulnerable to the world.  As soon as my hair was dry, I could see the light at the end of the tunnel.  I knew I was close.  I winced as she cut my bangs...knowing her hands were brushing my awkwardly clammy forehead.  I winced even more as she dusted me off knowing that no amount of dusting would remove the bits of hair that were glued to my neck due to the perspiration.

I thanked her for her accommodations, paid my dues, and quickly existed the premises.  As I drove home with the air conditioner blasting in my general direction, I knew I had learned my lesson:  wear as little clothing as possible to all future haircuts.  No exceptions.

As I've mentioned before, I embarrass myself approximately every 3 hours...