Sunday, May 20, 2007 Gil: Of hairs and nails By Sandy Gil Sunday Dunes
ABOUT a million columns ago, I had written about my best friend. Her name is Reza and she is about ten years younger than I am. Reza and I see each other intermittently because although we work in the same office, she is in a different department. Recently however we had the rare chance of visiting our favorite beauty salon together. And when that happens, the momentous occasion inevitably turns out to be a riot!
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A little background is required here. Reza is blessed with really thick and long hair. I, on the other hand, am doomed to be forever stuck with my short hair. But the universe truly has a way of balancing such (dis)tress-full state. Reza possesses weak fingernails, while mine are as strong as bones can be.
Be that as it may however, we are never satisfied with what we have. Reza thinks her thick and long hair is a curse, and I think my fossilized fingernails are an embarrassment.
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So off we hopped and skipped to the salon: Reza for a hair trim and I for a haircut and to have my nails done. Reza wondered how we could be done at the same time when she needed only a trim. I grinned and teased her that the time needed for her hair trim could approximate the same time I could have both my hair cut and nails done.
Since we both had the same hairdresser, we agreed that Reza would have her hair trimmed first while I had my nails done by someone else. By the time Reza was done, my nails would likewise have been done. Then it takes about a mere five minutes to have my hair cut, so Reza need not wait long for me to be done, right?
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And so it went... As the hairdresser sprayed water on her thick hair and snipped edges here and there, we were amused by the amount of hair that fell on the floor. For God's sake, it was only a trim... yet one could actually make a wig out of the locks that were snipped off from my friend's head! I mean, that mountain of hair could help those cancer victims who underwent chemotherapy and lost their hair! I mean, my friend could actually be a millionaire!
Reza simply glared at me. If looks could kill, I would have been dead on the spot.
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As the trimming of her hair went on for what seemed like hours, the manicurist who was doing my fingernails likewise trimmed my nails. Thus, there was this background music that went clack... clack... clack, instead of the usual clip... clip... clip. At the same time, we could see the manicurist squinting as she exerted all her physical effort in trimming my fingernails.
Reza nonchalantly asked no one in particular if the manicurist was cutting my toenails. Or was there a dog in the salon that was chewing on a bone.
I glared back at Reza.
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When Reza's hair was finally trimmed, the hair dresser gave her hair a nice blow dry. It took what seemed like a long time as the lady pulled and tugged at her thick hair. Mind you, my dear friend does not even have falling hair! How could she have such blessings!
Reza says her hair is a curse. Half her monthly salary goes into keeping her hair tame. Her hair caused her trauma which could be traced to her childhood. Her siblings used to tease her that she should remove her helmet when entering the house; that when inverted, she could be a broom; or, that her hair looked like Darth Vader's headdress.
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I felt so insignificant after Reza's hair trim. It took the hairdresser less than my projected five minutes to cut my hair. My hair did not even deserve a blow dry. In fact, it was not even towel dried. It took the hairdresser about three strokes of the hairbrush to put my hair in place.
What's worse was when we compared the amount of hair from Reza's trim and my hair cut, it was like my entire haircut was of equal volume as half of Reza's bangs.
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At least I have strong fingernails that are like toenails? Eeeeww...
