I’ve been pretty busy with work and stuff, so I have bounced my fortnightly dates with Rashidi the Moody Hairdresser for a while. Consequently, my head has left a lot to be desired. Fortunately, when you have dreads, uncoiffed just makes you look more rasta. But when you’re a rasta feki like me, the temptation to hide said locks under some red-green-and-yellow paraphernalia is … NOT.
So anyway, finally, after like two months **shudder** I took myself [heheh, gotta love direct translation. It is a beautiful beautiful thing.] I took myself to the salon to get my hair done. Result, I feel all clean and pretty. Yay!
Now, there are days when all heads in the office turn, and ex-office…mates start sending random ‘I-miss-you’ texts. It’s been a while figuring out what prompts these sudden bursts of love, but I think I finally know what causes it. You see, ever since I did my hair last Saturday, well, let’s just say a lot more boys have been … um .. noticing.
It started with the construction guy. He sees me every morning while my litle one and I wait for her schoolbus, and he always says hi. Little One doesn’t like him, and he never says more than hi. But yesterday, for the first time in like a year, he asked me my name.
Of course I pulled the ‘disant smile’ and answered Mama [insert princess’ birth-certificate-name here. You didn’t actually think I named my child Princess, did you? Who names their kid princess? Well, Gwen Stefani did, and Michael Jackson. And Madonna. And, well, my little one’s classmate’s mother named her kid princess, but really!!]
The idea is that by introducing myself as Mama so-and-so I make it clear that social interest is not welcome, yeah? It didn’t work. Next day, another of the bus stop regular asks my name. Princess doesn’t like this one either. He likes to touch people. Not in the dirty way, but in the Typical Tz ‘Hi-my-name-is-so-and-so-**as-i-stubbornly-fondle-your-palm-and caress-your-shoulder-with my-other-hand-and oops-did-my hand-stray–little-too-far-down ‘** kinda thing.
And of course he’s like [in swa] “I saw you in town but I couldn’t call you because I don’t know your name. And btw I just looove your hair!” I gave him the Mama Toto treatment, and he went all flirty. **Russumfussumflirtyneighbourhoodmen**
Then, last night, Mr handbagman, whom I at least consider a pal, [and princess actually likes this one] asked me my name. Ookkkay. Are we sensing a pattern here? This morning a watchie stopped me in the street to declare his undying love for my complexion, and my hair, and to give me a lecture on how women take watchmen for granted and request that I sit with him and exchange ideas. Right.
Now the only thing that has changed this week is the state of my hairdo, and suudenly all the boys are asking for my name. Er … Rashidi darling … help?!