The other day I was having my hair relaxed. It's a long story with an even longer history, but the long and short of it is, I needed a relaxer. Limp and lifeless in August, I decided to give my hair a body perm at the end of the summer. Half way through this winter, I started to resemble a poodle who had stuck her paw in a light socket. As you can imagine, this particular style didn't especially become me.

Anyway, after I had the bonds in my hair broken and reforged by a lovely hair elf, I came back out to the front of the salon for my blow out. Though hard to pry my eyes away from my recently-relaxed reflection, I glanced at the chair beside me and froze in mid blow. There he was, my third grade Sunday school teacher, getting his hair did.