TMI

It felt like I had won the lottery when a friend from work recommended a hair salon walking distance from my house. It was not only convenient, but for the first time in years I was able to get a consistently good cut. It became my every six week splurge, and although it felt pricey for Red Deer, it also made me feel like a grown up to actually have a regular hairdresser again.

A few days ago, I walked into the place expecting to spend 40 minutes talking about my hairdresser's athletically inclined children and the weather whilst "Angela" cut my hair. As I entered the salon, my spidey sense told me all was not right in Angie-land: she looked gawd awful.

One of the things I like about Angela is that she doesn't torture her own hair. There are no peculiarly coloured curly bits and she doesn't look like a country music singer. She looks like a happy 40 something woman with a good haircut. As I walked into the salon it was clear that the only thing that hadn't changed about Angela is her hair. I suppose that is because her own hairdresser is fine; it's Angie who is a mess.

Spidey sense aside, I definitely knew something was wrong when she seemed to forget that my tender head was on the other end of her finger tips as she dug into my scalp. Stupid me, I could have claimed a faux phone vibration and taken off, but did I do that...oh no...that would be too sensible. Instead, I asked her what was wrong. And as she pounded my scalp, she proceeded to tell me all about it.

The "it" was a story about her husband who was going to Thailand for six weeks of sex with someone he had met online.

I stayed not just through the shampoo, but continued to sit in her chair when she picked up the scissors. Heck, I even stayed when she switched to an electric razor of some sort and proceeded to buzz my neck. In truth, the hair cut is fine, though I had neck burn for a few days. What wasn't so fine is that I now know waaay more about this woman and her life than I should.

I can no longer go into her salon and let my mind wander as she chats about what she's making for dinner or her kids. I can no longer have anonymous stranger haircuts. My only hope is that in six weeks time she will have forgotten that she has burdened me with her confidence. Of course that is about when her husband is coming back from Thailand, so chances are, if I show up, I'll hear about that as well.

Damn, I'm glad I never told her I blog or friended her on Facebook. Sometimes it seems like the Internet is the only place I can wander around relatively anonymously.