Last Sunday, I chose to visit the parlour where I got my bridal makeup and hair done. Please note I am using the term parlour rather than being all fancy and using the term Salon which seems to be the cool thing to say.
So anyway, as I sat down the owner looked at me and exclaimed “Oh my God! You have put on weight!” She then saw my expression which probably looked like I would gobble her up if she said another word. She then mildly added ” You look perfect now. You were too thin during your wedding”.
I am used to comments like these now. I really miss hearing people tell me that I am too thin like skeleton. Anyhow this post is not about my weight, lets save it for another post. That day reminded me a few instances of my childhood days, hence this post.
A kid, getting her hair cut next to me. The stylist was giving instructions to close eyes, not move your head, sit straight. I remembered my haircuts. My first haircut was at my aunt’s house. My uncle made me sit in front of him and my cousins held me so that I don’t move and hurt myself.
I also remember going to the Men’s salon with my father to get my hair trimmed. All he said to them was, “Boy cut Malpule”, they put the trimmer around my head and in a few seconds, Voila! My hair was as short as it could be. The fine line between bald and not bald. I didn’t mind being a regular at first, till I got conscious of the difference between the salon (for men) and the beauty parlour (where girls are supposed to go).
I do not remember much but I do remember going to the beauty parlour near my dad’s office. He would leave me there instruct them to cut my hair short and go to his office. I would get a short pretty hair cut that makes hair wobble when I walk plus I also got to pick any nail paint of my choice.
They even wanted to experiment different styles on my hair but my father had strictly ruled it out. Good hairstyles were never my forte, but I would always lend my head and hair for others to experiment with.
As a child I was always pampered at the parlour free of cost. Now I need to shell out purple notes from my purse.
Sigh! Maybe that’s what I get for growing up.