I went to a Ukranian barbershop yesterday, which was scary for two reasons: one, I was trying to explain how I wanted my haircut in a language that is not my own (and in Russian, no less, which is much, much worse than my bad Ukrainian). That was pretty scary. Two, as I found, they do the the edging with a straight razor. You know that thing you see in period movies that's about six inches long and folds into a handles that long again? Yeah, that. So she's talking in Russian to the next lady over, looking away frequently and waving this huge razor-sharp (literally razor-sharp) thing around my head. MY HEAD!
Anyway. It turned out pretty well. The haircut. Not my head.
I got the haircut because I'm going home tomorrow and I knew my mother would try to get me to get a haircut anyway (I was 'fro-ing) and since a haircut costs $1 here and $12 there, I figured I'd go ahead and get one.
But let me say something again: I AM GOING HOME TOMORROW!
Just had to shout it. I like Ukraine, but they don't have Krispy Kreme or Tony Romas or Peanut Butter or my mom's Bistec Empanisado. And, oh yeah, my family's there, too.