The Mouth Breather...

Before meeting for lunch with Fritas and Superman I had to pay my monthly respects to one of the gods the gays must worship, hair salons. I walked in as I usually do and asked for my regular stylist. Seeing as it was a snow day I was sure to jump right in and be out in an hour, only to find my stylist moved back to Virginia. WTF? Is it me or do hair stylists have the life expectancy of Buffy: The Vampire Slayer?I had no time to do soul searching and interviews with other stylists So I asked for a recomendation. I didn't however have the time to specify my qualifications for said person such as keep chatting to a minimum unless I know you, and I don't. Bad idea.

I got sat down with a very large non descript salon gal. You know the type, 17 different shades of what I would call brown hair (though for them it's Swiss carmel and chocolate mouse) and enough product to keep a high rise from leveling during an eathquake. She was bubbly and seemed nice enough, so I told her what I'd like done and she seemed to get me pretty well. I got my shoulders rubbed and went on to the shampoo station. She then proceeded to talk with her salon friends instead of talking to me. Again good, I don't want to be fucking interviewed by some chick here to do me a service and leave, much like a hooker.

We sat down in the chair and she started shearing and chatting. Fuck, FUCK! Where do you work? How's the weather? Can I have a blood tpye and urine sample? I started getting shorter with my answers until she realized I'm sure that I was not in the mood. Then it happened, she leaned in closer when checking consistancy of length on either side of my head and I heard what I thought was the heating vents... only not. It took me seconds to realize she was a mouth breather, and a bad one at that. In case you are not sure what I mean by this is someone who is so large that the physical weight of their upper body is crushing their lungs to the point the are breathing like the wheezing kid in Hey Arnold or Darth Vader. How gross!!! I couldn't start up another conversation with her to save my life and couldn't hum descretly enough to drown our the sound. I had made my bed and now I had to lay in it with the mouth breather.

As soon as she finished I bounded out the door leaving enough for the cut and a tip. Here's a tip bitch, since you do nothing but stand around all day at work go out and take a jog or some laxitives after work. And now I'm stuck searching for a new stylist, fuck.

Bradley James