I got a haircut today. I went to a girl that I only go to because I think she's cute. I mean, my hair isn't that hard to cut. In all honesty, I could probably get my mother to cut it for free, rather than pay some hot girl $14.95. But really, I think the money is worth it.
This girl, who we'll call "Hair Cut Girl," has cut my hair on two other occasions. And she never remembers who I am. I guess I just make that much of an impression. Despite my forgettability, I've toyed with the idea of asking Hair Cut Girl out. You know, socially.
So today, during the witty banter that comes with getting one's hair cut, I thought of how I should go about asking for a date. We joked about Tae-Bo. And how there's too much emphasis on girls to be super-skinny. I really don't know, I was too busy trying to think three steps ahead so I could stay on top of the conversation to really stay on top of the conversation.
She finished my hair in record time. I should've asked for a shampoo just to prolong the inevitable, but I opted out. At the cash register I clumsily asked her name (even though I already knew her name was Hair Cut Girl), that way I'd know who to ask for next time.
In my mind, asking for her name was supposed to come out sounding a lot cooler than it did. In reality it sounded a little stalkerish. So now I have to find someone new to cut my hair. And also, I go another weekend without a date... I believe that's 276 consecutive single Friday nights. What's the record?
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