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You know what I love about beauty salons? The mirrors. Said no one ever. It's like they have a secret agenda to destroy your self-esteem. You sit there, and they angle the mirror in a way that makes it impossible to ignore your flaws. It's like, "Hey, remember that zit you thought nobody could see? Well, surprise! Here it is in high definition, surrounded by a spotlight!" And then there's the dreaded moment when they hand you that handheld mirror, asking if everything looks okay. What are you supposed to say? "Oh, could you fix that strand of hair that's been defying gravity since the '90s?" It's a lose-lose situation. If you criticize, they give you a look like you insulted their firstborn. If you pretend everything's perfect, you leave looking like a hairdo disaster.
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Can we talk about the small talk at beauty salons? It's like a crash course in social awkwardness. The stylist starts asking about your life, and suddenly you're revealing your deepest secrets to someone you met five minutes ago. "Yes, I do have a pet iguana named Mr. Wiggles, and no, I don't know why I thought getting an iguana was a good idea." And the worst part is when they start giving unsolicited advice. "You should really try this new skincare routine," they say as they scrutinize your face. It's like, "Lady, I just wanted a trim, not a life makeover." And then they act offended if you don't take their advice. I'm just here for a haircut, not a therapy session.
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You ever been to a beauty salon? It's like entering a parallel universe where everyone speaks a language you don't understand. I walked in, and the stylist asked me what kind of cut I wanted. I panicked and said, "Just make me look like I don't have two kids and a mortgage." She gave me this look like, "Sweetie, I'm a stylist, not a magician." But the real fun starts when they start washing your hair. They lead you to that sink like you're about to be baptized. It's supposed to be relaxing, right? They tilt your head back, and suddenly, you're in a vulnerable position with a complete stranger. I never know where to look during the hair wash. Do I close my eyes and risk looking like I'm in a deep meditative state, or do I stare awkwardly at my own reflection in the mirror?
And let's not even get started on small talk. I can handle the usual weather chit-chat, but when they start asking about my weekend plans, I panic. I don't want them to know my idea of a wild Friday night is binge-watching a true crime documentary while eating microwave popcorn.
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Can we talk about the magazines in beauty salons? Where do they find these relics? I swear, some of them are so outdated, they could be considered historical artifacts. I saw one magazine with a headline like, "Top 10 Fashion Trends of 2005." I was tempted to check if it had a section on how to master the art of bedazzling your flip phone. And why is it that the gossip magazines are always the stickiest? It's like someone spilled a cosmopolitan cocktail on the pages of "Celebrity Scandals Weekly." You try to flip through it, and it's like playing a game of Russian roulette with your fingertips. You might emerge unscathed, or you might get a mysterious substance on your hands that requires an industrial-strength sanitizer.
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