On Saturday I have an appointment with someone named Yuca at the Beverly Hills Vidal Sassoon. That's my self-birthday present this year: a haircut from someone who doesn't act like they're running the Indy 500 with the scissors as the car and my hair as the track.
It's not really that expensive. You want to know how much? Fine. $91. I really hope that's the full charge for the haircut, and not just the ante to get me in the door so we can start discussing her hair-vision. (Or his hair-vision. Right now I have no idea if Yuca is a guy, a girl, or starchy Central American plantlife.)