Sunday, August 10, 2008

Beauty Shop Blues

I thought I could wait until we got back to Moab before I would need another haircut, but I was wrong. So I headed around the corner to Coiffure Mixte to see if Carole could set me up with a rendez-vous on Friday. She suggested "a seize heure trente", which immediately demanded some calculation on my part. I always hated the 24-hour clock when working in Yellowstone, but it has its function there as it does in France for business and transportation timetables. As far as I could tell, I didn't need to take any trains. But we confirmed that I would return at 4:30 pm.

Since there weren't endless possibilities one could do with already short hair, Carole started asking questions that I interpreted as..."do you want a shampoo?", "which way do you comb your hair?", "do you only want a cut?", "how much do you want taken off?". Or, at least those were the questions that I was answering. I think I told her I wanted it real short, except leave some length on the neck. She started snipping at a lightning pace, but somehow we always seemed to agree on what was happening. When she was done, she handed me a mirror to check the back. I wanted a little more taken off, and started to tell her when she interjected something that sounded like "on poo PLOOSE?" It took me awhile, but I realized it's that southern twang. It's enough to undo everything (no matter how minute) I've already learned.

When I was leaving Coiffure Mixte, Carole offered me a Carte de Fidelite which entitles me to a free cut after 10 more. I didn't have the heart to tell her it just might not happen. But I did promise Doug that I would arrange a rendez-vous for him on Samedi if possible for a haircut. In French, the word for husband is mari and the word for Mayor is maire. I couldn't remember that subtle distinction of pronunciation, so it would be entirely possible that I could make a rendez-vous for Henri (our communist Mayor) instead. Heading into this sentence I understood my dilemma, so I chose instead the word for spouse (le epoux), except I may have stated it in the feminine gender (la epouse). I say this because later in the conversation Carole wanted to confirm whether the appointment for my spouse was for a fil or garcon.

Not only coiffure mixte, but mot mixte. Oh well, at least I've got my Carte de Fidelite!


Anonymous said...

Don't feel bad about the language difficulties regarding your hairdressers have all spoken English and I haven't had had a haircut I liked since I left my London-bred hairdresser in Dallas! There seems to be more to the "language of hair" than the language you are speaking!

I explain and explain...but my words seem to fall on deaf ears. I do some of my loudest swearing when I get home after a haircut or having my hair colored!

On a different subject, did you see on the internet or elsewhere, that the Wall Arch on Devil's Garden Trail collapsed in The Arches National Park in Utah? Apparently it was the 12th largest of the was a sad picture to see it all broken down.

Well, this pretty much ends Luke's "news from home"! Catch you later.

Anonymous said...

My God, for a second I thought you were ordering up a mullet!