The art of segue

When moving cities years ago from my home of Brisbane to the wonderful Melbourne, there were few things that bothered me in the transition. Leaving family and friends? No worries. Going to a city that I barely know? Not a problem. Starting work with a company in which I am expected to have some level of expertise? Yeah, whatever. What caused me the greatest stress was in searching for a new hairdresser and beauty therapist.

I hate making idle chit-chat with people. And the conversation required over a hair cutting experience is some of the most potentially mind-numbing. Thankfully, I have found a hairdresser that allows me to sit there, thumbing through their glossy magazine, and contributing little to the conversation. He does his job, and I am very happy, and much relieved.

Finding a beauty therapist, and more specifically a waxing artisan, has proved somewhat more problematic. I have a bad history with waxing, and am thus cautious when forging such a relationship. Considering the intimacy that getting a Brazilian entails, I should like to feel a level of comfort in the procedure. Recently, I have been trying out a new girl. Unfortunately her name is Jasmina, which I can tell you does not instill me with confidence. Further, she feels the need to make conversation. When one has limbs akimbo and naked from the waist down, there is a certain sense of vulnerability. So when she asks me stupid questions, I definitely do not feel my best comeback is immediately to hand.

Jasmina is apparently a great fan of Big Brother and was shocked to find that I detest it and all such "reality" shows. This of course, did not stop her from regaling tales of its most recent airing. But I felt it took all my strength to restrain myself when she asked the inevitable question. She asked, innocently and somewhat, naively, "Are you married?". I responded, "No, I am single." So far, a none too offensive question, but what nailed it was the follow-up, "Why?". I believe I mumbled something in an effort to just get her to stop talking.

Over dinner tonight, L7, S and I were discussing beauty treatments, and I mentioned the above story. L7 responded that she had had a facial during the week, and was also asked the "Are you married?" question, to which she responded that she was indeed single. And the response from the beauty therapist? "So, do you like lawn bowls?"

WTF?