Complex Numbers

Hairy-Scary

This afternoon, my business partner walked in with her hair all up in foil rollers.

Next door to us is an upscale hair salon, and the hair stylist or beautician or tonsorial engineer or whatever the hell they're calling themselves these days does her hair sometimes for free.

My partner - who for the sake of discussion and relative anonymity we'll call 'Sue' - goes over there when they have an opening because, after all, it's free. So today she came back with her hair, which is thick and long, all done up in tinfoil.

"Well, I guess you're immune from alien abduction and government conspiracies today."

"Yep," 'Sue' replies. "And I like it because [Stella] gives me a glass of wine." She holds up a tulip glass with about two inches of pale wine in it - Chardonnay, or maybe sauvignon blanc, if I'm any judge. (which I am)

A little while later she pauses in the door of my office prior to going out for a smoke, and then back to the cosmi... cosmo... cosmat... hairdresser, to tell me something work-related. I don't remember what she said, but my laugh was obviously misplaced based on the work-related thing, because she looked at me like I'm nuts (if she's any judge). "What?"

"You've got your hair up in shiny foil rollers, a glass of wine in one hand, a lighter in the other, and a cigarette hanging from your lips."

"Haven't you heard? It's Trailer Trash day."

Funny, I forgot to wear my wifebeater. But I went out and got a six-pack to celebrate.