7 Minutes in Heaven

I woke up this morning feeling productive, so I hauled out of bed and got a haircut. On the North end of town there's a place called the Regency Beauty Insititute. Or rather, Heaven. Never before have I seen an institution so dedicated to educating none but the finest of the fine. Not only were the beauty students hot, but the teachers were hot, the receptionists were hot, and the clients getting they're hair done were hot. On top of all this, the girlfriend came with me to make sure I didn't walk out with a purple mohawk.

Now this all started off great, and it got even better when my hairstylist came out to introduce herself. "Hi my name's Kayla and I wanna say thanks for being part of my educational experience today."

Unhh.

The fun ended here, though. Kayla was sweet, and nothing if not terribly cute and nice to boot, but her defining feature was her nerves. I don't blame the girl, she had to do my hair with 2 instructors watching over her shoulder, and judging by the way they talked to her, she hadn't had much previous success with guy's hair. Still, even after nicking her fingers with the scissors twice, she kept at it.

In an effort to keep things light, I tried to loosen her up with some friendly conversation. I had to walk a fine line, since Bonita was right there watching, and I didn't want her to think I was hitting on the beauty student, but I did my best. We discussed beauty school, and our common desire to open up our own stores (different types of stores of course), and I think once we began talking it went much smoother. There was a little 3 year old girl in the chair next to mine getting her hair curled who was talking up a storm, and when Kayla looked over at her and said "Aww your hair looks so cute!" I coyly quipped "Why thank you!" and earned my first deathglare of the day.

It's true I deserved that one, but I plead not guilty on the second. When we had finished, I moved to get up and suddenly remembered that it was customary to tip a haircutter, and reached for my wallet. I only had a ten, so, feeling generous, I gave Kayla the ten, smiled, and left. Bonita was not a fan of the tip.

See this is where I have problems. I used to work for tips, so I always tip on the high side for good service (especially the kind of service where they rub their boobs on you when they trim your sideburns). I've caught flakk for this before, but I guess it's a lasting habit that's hard to break. I tried to explain to her that tipping is just a soft spot for me, and that it could have been a 400 lb sweaty man and I still would have tipped high, so long as he pressed his boobs on me, but she just wouldn't hear it. Women.