Hair Scare

I plop into the salon chair.

The stylist hovers behind me, explaining what’s going to happen. “Your hair might smoke a bit,” she says. “I don’t want you being alarmed.”

“Like, smoke smoke?” I say.

“Yeah, it’s just the keratin fusing in.”

“And there’s no formaldehyde, right?” I ask.

“Oh there’s formaldehyde. It’s not on your head but it’s created in the off-gassing.” Then she points to a literal gas mask she’ll be wearing.

We sit for a few seconds in uncomfortable silence while I weigh the value of my life against the prospects of divinely frizz-less, straight-ish hair that I will be proud to whip around for approximately three to six months.

“Ok, let’s do it,” I say.