I've been mole molested. No, not recently, it was a while ago. But I had flashbacks to it last night.

During the drive home from dinner last night The H.B. said that he needed to get a haircut. I said that I needed to get my hair dyed. I'm 'all talk, no action' in the hair department lately. I keep saying that I want to dye it a different color but I never go and actually get it done. It's not that I'm afraid to do it. Not at all. I'm just too lazy. And poor. :)

I want to go to the store and buy something temporary, just to try it out, experiment a bit and see if I want to go lighter or darker. The H.B. says I should go to a saloon and have them do it but I'd rather go the store-bought route. I could live with it if the color juice totally went wacko on my hair. Mainly because I'm reluctant to have some professional mess with it. The time I got streaks in my hair was not a fun experience. The blonde streaks turned out AWESOME! It was just the whole processes of getting it done.

First of all, the guy working on me had an accent, and a lisp, and he talked really softly. I had no fucking idea what the hell he was saying half the time. He'd say something to me and I'd say 'Huh?' back. He'd repeat the question a few times and I'd say 'huh?' a few times more until I just nodded my head and made some noncommittal grunt.

Second of all, I've got a big head. I don't mean a 'big head' in the sense that I'm full of myself. I mean I've got A BIG HEAD. I inherited it from my mother, so it's all her fault. When people see me walking down the street they don't say, "God damn that's big fat head!" At least they don't say that to my face... which is a part of my big fat head. Oh my... is it noticeable? Is my head weirdly proportionate to the rest of my body? If it was I'm sure some kid would have pointed it out to my by now. So maybe it's not noticeable. Either way, the little cap thingy they put on your head to do the streaks thing doesn't fit me. Well, it fit, but very tightly. The whole thing wasn't fun. But the streaks ended up looking killer so I guess it was worth it.

The next time I went back the soft speaking lispy guy with an accent wasn't there so I thought after 'I get my hair cut maybe I'll have them put in streaks, or maybe go for the full on dye job.'

That's when the mole molestation took place. See, I've got this big-ass mole on my big-ass head. So what? I've had my hair cut by many people and they've never really dwelled on it. But this lady did.

"What is that?" she exclaimed and proceed to rub my mole.

"It's a mole," I said, trying to send out 'stop rubbing my mole like it’s a damn genie lamp' vibes.

She left it alone and went back to cutting my hair.

Snip.

Snip.

Rub The Mole! Rub The Mole!

"It's so weird!" she says as she's back to feeling up my mole.

Let me tell you something: that was just damn awkward. I couldn't understand what the hell she was saying other than 'That's a mole?' so I didn't stick around for the hair coloring portion of my trip to the hair snippers.

I could always go somewhere else. And have them use other options than the Too Tight Hair Cap thingy. But I'd rather just experiment with it myself. And mess it up myself. And go to professionals as a last resort to have them fix me up. But you know, even if my hair turned green I think I'd like the change. At least people would be hesitant to fondle my mole next time. 'Ooooh, don't mess with her mole. She's got green hair. She's crazy!'

Hey Becky and Amanda... I'll be home for Thanksgiving. If you two are around, do you want to dye my hair green? heh heh heh