I live in a country that is not my own, I speak a language that is not my own when in that country, and sometimes… things happen. Today, a visit to the hairdressers… I was speaking in this language that is not my own, with a stylist who doesn’t speak this language as a first language either. We don’t share a common language other than this language. This is when I should have walked out, and rescheduled with someone I could communicate effectively with, especially considering it’s my hair we’re talking about.

Perhaps I should have paid more attention to what said stylist was doing, but suffice to say, I will not be going out tonight, nor tomorrow night, and I may well stay in for the coming week. I’m even considering trying to work from home next week. My hair… this morning… was longer than in the photo that accompanies this post… and I quite liked it that way, having cultivated it for some weeks… my hair… now, as I type this, and as small snippets of hair falls to the keyboard intermittently over these past five minutes… my hair… now, is shorter than in the photo that accompanies this post. I speak clearly, for I want no further confusion today, I advise… NEVER… to get your hair cut in a country where language… might get you in trouble.

No photo today, I can’t bear to share.