I visited Steve the Pricey Hairstylist again.
Again, Steve tried to massage my head. Luckily, he asked this time instead of rubbing relentlessly on my protruding skull bones. "No, thanks, just a regular shampoo." Perhaps if anyone had offered me wine my defenses might have been down and I would have been game. 'Ho that I am.
So, while Steve was shampooing me, I compared his professional shampoo technique to my amateur technique. I go under the shower, dump shampoo into hand, rub shampoo with a flat palm onto my head. Then, using my nails I claw it through my hair and rub it around. Rinse. Repeat.HAhahaha. No, I don't repeat. Does anyone repeat, really? Steve didn't repeat, and he's a pro.
The thing that struck me was that instead of long clawing strokes followed by mushing, Steve took his fingers and scritched all over my head. He scritched with his nails as if I had a Walmart gift sticker adhered to my scalp. After forty-five minutes of scritching I began to wonder if this was entirely necessary.
(Well, five minutes of scritching. My clawing and mushing technique takes seconds, but I got the idea he had my scalp mapped out on a grid and he had to scritch equally in all areas. It did take longer then the usual shampoo.)
Steve finished. I wanted to ask him if he took that much care with his hair at home, you know, all the equally distributed scritching.
"Hey, Steve -" I began.
"Okay, dry off," he said, and handed me a towel.
I dried off. "Okay, so tell me, at home -- " I began again.
"Did I get your smock wet?"
"Follow me, then," and he led me back to the station.
By the time we wound our way past all the freaking waterfalls they have in this place, I was sure I'd forget my question if I didn't ask. As I sat down, I blurted:
"So Steve, do you do that in the shower at home?"
"Do you do it that way at home?"
(Huh, I thought, Steve looks puzzled. Obviously I am not communicating well. Don't say 'scritching,' because that isn't a real word, and he won't know what you mean.)
"You know, the rubbing, with your hands. In the shower. Not the massage, not that. I mean I know you don't massage yourself at home in the shower. But, you know the...the..." I made random gestures in the air with my hands. They were probably regrettable gestures.
Steve looked concerned. "I'm sorry, I don't know what you mean."
I knew I was in trouble after the "self-shower-massage" suggestion. I decided to Stop. Talking. I waved my arms upward and pantomimed Stan Laurel scratching the top of his head. With both hands. Like Stan Laurel. Or, alternatively, a chimpanzee.
Steve said, "Ooooooohhhhhhh. It's important you exfoliate your scalp. But no, I don't do that every day in the shower myself."
So. "Exfoliation" is my new code word for tugging one off in the shower.