Clean and scrubbed

Other women (and Neil) used to talk about the wonders of having someone else wash your hair and how wonderful it was. Me, I never used to see the appeal: hair-washers would squirt water and sometimes shampoo in my face accidentally, they would scratch my scalp too hard, their fingers would tangle in my hair, and I would just grit my teeth and pray the entire thing would be over soon already.

But that all changed yesterday. OMG. She was careful, and asked about pressure. The water temperature was just right (instead of the usual too-warm-for-Kim temp), so I floated in a warm haze while she massaged my temples. Even the hair gentle-tugging-at-roots (which is a form of scalp massage) felt pleasant, although usually I cringe at that. It felt like there was more light and circulation in my head than there ever was. I walked around hazily happy, even though it rained and rained gloomily outside. I am a total convert, and now I understand why there all those stereotypes about women falling in love with their hairdressers. It is a sensual thing that is not-unlike a nice massage. Golly, the difference some care makes. Meanwhile, I feel completely... groomed and pretty, which is a very nice feeling to have.