This Is This

The author of Two Blue Fish is not very clever at hiding behind pseudonyms. Somehow he is an arts writer and theatre reviewer, fiction writer, humour columnist, faux chef at an iconic and rather pointy Australian landmark, and although he is good at being wigged out to psytrance music, he also knows his way around a kick arse wine list. Basically, he lacks focus.

Went to the hairdressers recently and there were two assistants on hair-washing duty. One was really cute and the other was kind of homely. I used all my Jedi mind powers to influence the guy at the desk to assign me to the really cute one but I got the other one. No biggie. Just a hair wash, not nuptials. The girl’s wan smile indicated that she knew and understood that I was probably slightly disappointed at not being handed over to the other girl, and that she was used to that kind of thing because that was her lot in life; there was always someone in the room who was better looking than her. I smiled back at her and tried to let her know that I actually preferred her anyway because in my books, homely girls are A-okay. I settled into the chair. She started washing my hair, and all was good.

Soon she was massaging my head and it was taking all the stress of the week away. She was really working some magic. It was like she personally knew every muscle in my scalp. Her fingers traced soothing circular motions over the top of my head and down the back, deep into my temples, my jaw muscles, down my neck. Covered in goose bumps, I felt like Homer Simpson before a doughnut shop when suddenly (cue the opening theme from 2001: A Space Odyssey) I realised with horror that Little Miss Homely Fingers was making a tee-pee in my pants. With her hands! Via my head! The diabolical minx!

Don’t panic. Think of Not-Sexy Stuff. Old ladies’ feet. Dirty ash trays. Dog pooh on the footpath with a skid mark through it where someone has stepped in it. I tried to get a look to see how obvious it was but my head was held back. Fucking hell she was good – and she wasn’t easing up. She asked if every thing was all right. Yeah, I squeaked casually, everything’s just peachy.

As I left the salon I thanked the girls and was told I was welcome. And there it was in her dirty filthy sweet smile. Homely my arse.

I’m due for a cut again soon. Going back to the same place. Going to request the same girl (cue the theme from The Good, The Bad and The Ugly) just so that I can show her she was lucky once. Caught me unaware. But I’m made of better stuff than that. One gauntlet thrown down. Bring. It. On.

———-
I thought long and hard about whether I should include this post. Unfortunately, “long and hard” looks like a cheap knob gag now in the context of this post, but it’s ONLY because it’s so well written that I included it, and not just because it deals with the trials of a man stifling a stiffy in a public place. -CJ

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I read a story today about the warmongering US Vice President’s supporters that included the words “Cheney’s hawks” and now I can’t get “I Am The One And Only” out of my head.
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