I desperately needed a haircut, but I was a bit apprehensive about finding someone in Cuba mostly because I'm loyal to my sassy stylist Phillipo back in Boston. Finding someone new to play with my brown locks is flirting with disaster.
So in a drunken haze last night I axed Chino where he gets his hair done. Basically I made drunk plans. I hate drunk plans because I never follow up the next day. The next day you wake up at 12:30 still drunk stumbling your way to the bathroom where you see an empty box of Chinese take-out. The drunk plans you made the night before are over and you feel bad because you slept in. So you check your phone that has no missed calls or texts. Your friend is probably still passed out and you two never bring up the drunk plans ever again to avoid the awkwardness.
Anyhow, my dream is to ride a motorcycle with a leather helmet, glass goggles, and a scarlet scarf. Think Amelia Earhart. Today I got to almost do that except I rode on Chino's bike with a plastic helmet and my legs dangling off the bike. I never felt so alive. There have been more than enough occasions in Cuba where I thought "okay this is it. Jesus Lord take me now." Today was another one of those. I was holding on to dear life on a motorcycle and one of the only reasons was because I thought it would be a little awkward holding on to a grown, straight man's torso while he escorted me to his fave hair stylist.
In the end my hair turned out cute and sassy. It makes me reevaluate why I feel the need to pay $45 for a healthy hair cut in the States. That's not even a two month salary for decent-off Cubans.
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