prayers, chez le coiffeur

These past four months studying abroad haven't contained as many "firsts" as I'd expected, but this was unexpected: The First Time I Fervently Muttered Hail Marys While Getting My Hair Cut.
For as long as I can remember... realistically probably since our second year in the United States, I have faithfully visited David J. Witchell on State Street in Newtown, PA, every time I've wanted a haircut. When I chopped off eleven inches to give myself a more "mature" look in sixth grade, David was there for me. He's been there for prom hairstyles that cost way too much money, spa pedicures with friends, and the not-so-frequent trim in-between all that.

Now that I'm far away from Newtown, PA, the time came for me to brave the elements and head to "chez le coiffeur" to attempt a safe haircut.
I just wanted a trim, and was in dire need of one since my last haircut was during Thanksgiving break. Althought I had done a decent job translating for Matt in Geneva over the summer, the prospect of describing a hairstyle to Parisians "coiffeuses" was extremely intimidating.
I spent the night before in my room with Anna, poring through the four American magazines in my room, brought to me care of De and Becky. We tried to find a decent photo of a hairstyle I could imagine on my head, but of course neither the paparazzi-style shots in Us Weekly, nor the fashion spreads in Vanity Fair sufficed. We searched for "haircut" vocab on Google instead, and, armed with a little notebook with words like "dégradé" (layered) and "refraîcher" (refresh, a trim), I made my way to the little salon around the corner, where haircuts were advertised for 40 euros.... cheap by Parisian standards, unfortunately.

The women inside were really nice; I had to wait a while to get seen, and I had a literature test later that afternoon so the relaxed French attitude was getting to me. I was finally shampooed, and as I lay with my neck in the little nook that's never ever comfortable, I missed the trendy music and even trendier staff at David Witchell. I missed the fact that there, despite the perpetually uncomfortable neck situation, I could fall asleep to the feeling of a head massage instead of the rigorous scrubbing I received Chez Le Coiffeur.
The haircut itself was a short-lived, rough affair. The five centimeters I had requested were snipped off, a rough short piece was cut in the front, and when I responded that yes, it was in fact short enough, the hairdresser proceeded to snip at it some more. They do that trick at David Witchell too, but somehow I don't really mind as much.

A part down the middle and one incredibly flat, drab blow-dry later, I thought to myself, "She must be able to tell that I don't like it. I just cannot make my face look pleased."

After shelling out forty euros, I marched out of there, short pieces of hair flying into my eyes, and looked forward to showering so I could rinse out the middle part and flatness in an effort to improve my look.
I think it worked.

The cut is simple and definitely growing on me. I don't know if I'll ever jump at the opportunity to go through that again, but it's definitely a story worth telling.
Ah, language barriers.

I spent a fabulous weekend in Alicante, Spain with Matt from Friday night to Sunday. The sun shone, it was about 75 degrees during the day, and we had some delicious tapas, sangria, and paella to give ourselves the full Mediterranean experience. I was sad to leave that little taste of paradise behind, especially as I gazed out the airplane window at the other side of the Pyrenees, where the cloud cover prevented me from seeing any patch of ground. It was only as I sat on the bus back to the city center in Paris on Sunday evening that I realized it was not only cloudy in France, but snowing. I had to change out of flip-flops immediately.
My sunburned shoulders are starting to peel.

I've just come from the second of two very delicious dinners thanks to Finn and Adrian; I feel so lucky to have family close by that can treat me to a four-course meal at the drop of a hat. And tomorrow, FINALLY, I get to see mum. Unfortunately my train won't stop in Angers until 10:30pm, but that way I can still go to my history class tomorrow night and get to Montparnasse with time to spare. We don't have much planned; a market here and there, some yummy food, and a comfy bed in the countryside. We'll be coming back to Paris on Saturday and hopefully hit some of the spots I have yet to see.
I've started making my final list of "Things to Accomplish Before the End of May" as spring break lurks just one week away. I feel already as if my time is running out!

New guilty pleasure, thanks to dad: Catherine Tate comedy bits on YouTube.
If you can handle British humor, sneak a peek here.