I stare on Saras, mesmerized. Is that the newest trend in hairstyling? People with maroon hair, burgundy hair, electric blue hair, shocking pink hair, glittery avocado green hair, I can relate. But erratic silvery-black hair? Oh it’s not a highlight, my mistake. It is gray hair. How old is she again? I try to recollect. She said she’s thirty-ish. Ow. Having a majority gray hair in your thirties is a bit premature I suppose. Maybe she personally likes having gray hair, people say you will look wiser with gray hair. Well it’s personal style, I thought. And maybe she likes it messy. Or at will, should I say. Because I’ve been suppressing this urge to get a comb and tidy it. I never see hair that disarray since I saw one of my super curly-haired friend get off a bus and blown by a hard Melbourne wind until he was about to fly off. Took him three hours to get his hair ordered. And Saras’s hair is about as messy. And why she doesn’t iron her shirt and pants? Or maybe it’s the latest organza fabric that suppose to look disheveled. I doubt it though.
I can be Shallow Nat sometimes. Or maybe more often than I want to be, I’m not proud of it. But some people can really have very “personal” style, so “personal” it fails me. So Saras, I really want to say to her, can I do your hair and get your clothes done? And why I can be so keen on her fashion faux pas, it’s because she has been on the phone for fifteen minutes or so, since we first shake hands. Be it she stops her phone call and talking to me appropriately, I may not that bitchy on her looks. But she gives me all the ammo by letting me stare at her. After waiting for couple more minutes listening to her chatting to her cell fervently, I excuse myself. She looks at me blankly but I just point at my watch and mumbling something about a sudden meeting I need to attend. At 08.00 p.m. Go figure. As I walk away, I see a very cute, wooden comb in a cosmetic stand. I smiled and silently wish Saras would see that comb too and buy it and decide to do a good use of it.
I can be Shallow Nat sometimes. Or maybe more often than I want to be, I’m not proud of it. But some people can really have very “personal” style, so “personal” it fails me. So Saras, I really want to say to her, can I do your hair and get your clothes done? And why I can be so keen on her fashion faux pas, it’s because she has been on the phone for fifteen minutes or so, since we first shake hands. Be it she stops her phone call and talking to me appropriately, I may not that bitchy on her looks. But she gives me all the ammo by letting me stare at her. After waiting for couple more minutes listening to her chatting to her cell fervently, I excuse myself. She looks at me blankly but I just point at my watch and mumbling something about a sudden meeting I need to attend. At 08.00 p.m. Go figure. As I walk away, I see a very cute, wooden comb in a cosmetic stand. I smiled and silently wish Saras would see that comb too and buy it and decide to do a good use of it.
1 comment:
Hahahaha, this story really bright my day with a simple laugh!
=G=
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