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Recently, I was at my neighborhood Michael’s picking up some supplies for gifts.  While I was scouting for appropriately sized treat boxes, a middle aged gentleman needed to cross behind me in the aisle and excused himself to scoot on by.  He was being polite.  This was all normal stuff (as I understand what normal is).  But then, as he was walking behind me, he stopped suddenly and exclaimed something about how healthy my hair was.  Um…ok.  Normal?  Maybe??  And thus started was seemed like a ridiculously long conversation about my hair in the middle of Michael’s.

I say conversation.  That would imply that we would trade the talking role.  We didn’t.  I mostly just listened.  So…I don’t really know what it was.  Other than being awkward…since we were in the middle of Michael’s…and he was a complete stranger.

Anyway, he had lots of compliments for my hair, mostly along the line of it being thick and healthy.  From what I gathered, he works in marketing for a hair product place.  My hair is really healthy.  He wasn’t trying to sell me anything (they sell directly to salons).  My hair is really healthy.  I can probably live to be 100 and still have a full head of hair.  My hair shines appropriately.  I don’t know how hair can shine inappropriately, but he’s the expert, I guess.  My hair is really healthy.  He didn’t want to embarrass me too much.  My hair is really healthy.  He’s really glad the “salt and pepper” look doesn’t bother me.  My hair is really healthy.  He asked that I do the hair flippy thing in the middle of the store a few times because he really wanted to see the volume.  He wanted me see my hair “just one more” time a few times.  The whole exchange was…awkward.  I couldn’t find a graceful way to extract myself from the thing.

For those who are incredibly creeped out by this…well, yes.  I suppose you have every right to be.  If it makes you feel better, I was not in any immediate danger (we’ll just put aside the fact that I have a very poor sense of personal safety) as we were in the middle of a public area.  Also, he was…kind of fruity.  Not that it’s bad or anything, but if we had gotten into a physical fight, I could have held my own.  He had a limp handshake.  I loathe limp handshakes.  Especially from men.  Gross.

Through this whole exchange, he didn’t try selling me anything, but he did give me a tip.  Apparently, in West LA they are currently looking for hair models.  He said that I would be a prime candidate for the job.  He rather strongly encouraged me to look into it.  I guess…that can be my backup plan…if this new place doesn’t work out.


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