Accidentally Kissing My Hairdresser

Understanding complex literature, sure. But social cues?

This story is for you, no matter how you feel about hairdressers. No matter how you feel about hair. It is not really about hair but human fallibility. The ability to behave like an idiot even when, in most areas of life, you are known for being capable and clever. Puppy-like, but in the name of a shared humanity, I roll over to expose my vulnerable underbelly. Shame is only shame when you bury it.

But let’s begin with hair. It will not surprise any of you who have seen me on impromptu Zoom calls or in real life that I am not one of those humans who spends a lot of time doing her hair. Waste of time, in my book. I want to run a quick brush through it and get on with something interesting. I’ll tie it up if I’m busy or wielding a power tool, but that’s it unless it’s my own wedding.

My sister once, seeing the sleek bob of an early US passport photo from my twenties that was among our dead father’s things, said ‘but you hair never looks like that’. ‘Like what?’ I said. ‘Neat,’ she said. …