My blind spot...

Now normally I am pretty resistant to the efforts of salespeople. I can look them squarely in the eye and say no, nada, nix, nein...you get the idea. So in most cases I can avoid buying those things that people end up kicking themselves for later.

However I do have a blind spot.

Continue to read gentle reader and you shall discover it.

I have unruly hair. Not your ordinary garden variety unruly hair. That would be manageable. My hair cannot in all honesty be called merely unruly. It should be called rebellious. Violently rebellious. More in the nature of an armed insurrection. Think the Intifada, the non-cooperation movement, the October revolution and a particularly violent Football game (The American variety where people slam into each other with the gay abandon of berserk locomotives) all rolled into one.

That too would be fine if the insurrection was aimed against the same target. However that isn’t the case. Not only is my hair rebelling against me, each individual hair is rebelling against all its neighbours. And not just the neighbours, tensions are also simmering between hairs that have never seen each other. They dislike each other on general principles.

Now while I am the last person to object to people disagreeing with each other, I do strongly believe that it is in my greater interests that this rebellion must be stamped out and the order restored. My hair just as strongly believes that I should fuck off.

But I am of stronger mettle than that. I have persevered through the ages. I have fought the good fight and I have more often than not, lost. I have been soundly defeated. You can hear my hair partying after each victory. The sounds of champagne corks being popped and guns being fired off fills the ether. Not into the air as would be sensible… when the guns are fired off it usually means that fresh hostilities have broken out up there in that long, never ending war.

And that brings me to my blind spot. In my efforts to subdue my hair, I am a sucker to almost everything that the barbers here recommend. Matters aren’t helped by the fact that the barbers here are female, young and usually very attractive. Back in India I was used to grumpy men who wielded the scissors like swords, and who would consider taking off an inch of skin a mark of their skill. So while I am used to grumpy men growling at me, here I am confronted by pretty women, who in dulcet tones convince me to buy a whole bunch of fucking expensive hair products. These gels and creams and other assorted chemicals (solids, liquids and semi-solids) slowly gather dust in my bathroom cabinet and glare at me every morning. A painful reminder of how weak I can be when the forlorn hope of subduing my hair meets an attractive woman peddling products for a commission.

On a happier note, Congratulations Chilli aka Mr.MBA. Wish I had been there to cheer you on. That’s one more treat you owe me when I finally can visit. And Kiddo looking forward to meeting you when you get here.