Prattle on
Saturday, August 27, 2005
So, today I go over to the salon at 11:00 AM. I get there and I’m ready to have my hair done. I’m even wearing the outfit I had planned for the day so I could go straight from the salon to down town. I walk up to the door at 11:00 only to find a note saying “Back in 15 minutes.” I am immediately annoyed. But, I decide to wait the 15 minutes maybe she’s just getting a drink or something. She doesn’t come back.

Mildly irritated, I decide to walk down the street to the salon that I thought was only for men. Maybe she’s hanging out there. The barbershop is often blasting calypso music and looks like a lot of fun. I get there and it’s full of people. Five or six men are sitting and laughing together. They could have been waiting to get their hair cut. They could just be hanging out. Really, unless they are getting their hair braided, men could in and out of a barber chair in 15 minutes.

There is actually a woman’s section in the back. If there were five men in the front, there were at least double the women in the back. I ask the guy running the show if I could make an appointment. He stops moving a smoking curling iron through the multi coloured mane in front of him and looks my way. Reaching out to me, he passes his hand through the front of my hair while looking my roots – I think he was checking to see that it was mine. Yes, he touched my hair. But, he is a professional so it’s OK. Motioning over to the row of chairs along side the wall he says, “Take a seat.”

“You can do it today!” I was a little over zealous.
“Yeah, maybe.” He says. Now I’m not waiting in a packed salon for maybe. So I ask if I can just make an appointment.

Agreeing on 9:00 AM Monday morning (thankfully, we are out of the office for most of next week) I leave elated! I am excited. This guy strikes me as a professional. The woman beside him was braiding a scalp while talking hair maintenance – at least I think she was, I don’t speak French.

I head back up the street to my place. Passing the other salon, I notice that the woman still has not returned.

I may have to wait two days for my trim, but at least I know I will get it done.
Friday, August 26, 2005
So, I am a little particular about my hair. I am a little particular and a lot vain. When I moved to this neighbourhood I noticed a large Haitian community. I was glad because I thought that when I need to replace my hair products I could easily find the product line that I use or something similar. I also thought that I could easily go somewhere for a trim when needed. Well, I was totally wrong.

First, the African store down the street doesn’t carry the products I use. Not only do they not carry anything similar they have an array of products that I have never EVER seen. Strangely, they carry a full compliment of skin lightening soaps, creams and solutions that I have only heard rumour of. I can’t believe they still make those products, nor can I believe anyone could find them to sell. Who buys that stuff? Last week during a hair oil emergency I had to but a SUB-standard hair oil. I hate it. It’s upsetting.

Anyway, I need a trim and there are two places near my house. One does only guys, so I can’t let them anywhere near my hair. The other is for women. But they seem dedicated o fake braids and weaves. Still, I figure I gotta go somewhere, and I really need to get it done. So, I walk in there today and ask if I could go in tomorrow and get a wash, blow out and trim. The woman who runs the place has what is quite possibly the worst weave I have ever seen matched only by her attitude. Looking at me like I’ve just stolen her rich rich boyfriend, she says that I can come in at 11:00 AM. Fine, but I gotta be down town by 3:00 PM and let’s face it, black hair salons have a rep, you gotta have a lot of time. So, I ask her if three and a half hours is long enough. Well, did I ask the wrong question? While rolling her eyes and resting her hand on her hip the woman says “Well I don’t know, I don’t know if she will be here to help (she motions to the woman standing over a tightly braided scalp). But I do know I can’t do it before 11.”

I’m thinking to myself that since the woman who may or may not be there to help is STANDING RIGHT BESIDE HER why not ask if she is coming in or not. I’ve gone in to make an appointment and all I get is attitude. I mean it’s like she is not even looking at my hair. I have a MASSIVE head of hair. If the hair dresser is good, I’m a freakin’ gold mine. If you carry the hair products I use, I’ll be in there weekly. I will buy four different hair oils at the same time. I pick up conditioner by the tub on the regular. I need a new brush and it has to be a good one.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
So, the Babette saga continues. It’s like the American Idol franchise. There is no end in sight. Little Babette has done a pretty good job of talking up residence in my house. During the weekend she only tip toed around the floors and poked her nose in some cupboards. Last night she fully stretched out on one of my leather chairs and early on in the evening, I found her on my bed. Ah Babette.

After work yesterday my coworker came to my place to take a look at the little one, because she wants a cat more than anything. Now, I have been feeling the pressure to keep Babette, mainly from a friend of mine from Toronto who is being pretty adamant. He is telling me to keep the cat. He is telling me to be nice to animals. He is even telling me that cat food is cheap. And while I agree with all of these statements I still don’t know if I am the best cat mom Babette could have.

Oh This Just In

My coworker, Laura will indeed be taking Babette. However, Babette has to live with me for another week and a half. Perfect.

The Babette saga closes.
Sunday, August 21, 2005
So, as it turns out I was right about Babette, ma petite Babette. I’ve been played. She bamboozled my emotions and hoodwinked my sentiments. That’s not to say she has left my terrace and I dutifully put out some food and water for her this morning. She sat sweetly beside her bowls and ate her breakfast.

I say she bamboozled me because last night I went down stairs to warn my neighbours, Dean and Sonia, about Babette’s frequent forays into my apartment if I leave my door open. I knew the same would happen to them if they leave their door unattended.

Well, as it turns out, the cat I have been calling Babette, my neighbours have been calling Chimaxo-Squeamish (or something like that – it’s Cree for “Little Pitiful One”). The day before I found Babette on the terrace, she found her way into their place. They also bought her food. They also lavish her with attention. The cat is smart.

Now, Dean and I have been discussing building a little insulated cat-house for Babette Chimaxo Squeamish under the steps for the winter. I don’t want cat hair and Dean is allergic but the cat needs somewhere to stay.

The thing is that she has obviously been taken care of. She is groomed and Sonia checked her ears. The cat is healthy and belongs to someone. She is just a little too skinny. Right now the goal is to fatten her up a little. Based on the amount if food she gets from us, she’ll be a plump little one in no time.

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