There’s no business like hair business.

When in Malaysia and if short of time, I would drive the boys straight to the barber shop near the stadium. I would park the car right in front of the shop lot and in went the two boys. Ten minutes later, out came two little cadets reeking with the strong smell of hair tonic and all white around the collar from the powder used to clean away bits of hair.

At other times, I would just gather all my kids (sounds like I have a dozen of them!) and take them to my usual hairdresser at one of the local malls. I have one that I frequented since Spike was small. The stylist’s name is Ken. A very talented guy who knows exactly what needs to be done and delivers. One glitch is perhaps his name for it means ‘to urinate’ in Malay.  A very unfortunate glitch considering he paid a lot for the shop lot and the signboard.

My kids are used to having free hands when it comes to choosing hair styles. Spike went around with a Superman hair do as a five year old. The tousled look was perfected with the help of a generous dollop of hair gel. It was funny to see how unaffected he was with others’ reaction upon seeing what looked like a piece of turd on his forehead. As far as he was concerned, it was cool.  Occasionally we would invite my brother’s son who was also five to go out with us and both of them would walk hand in hand, wearing the same hairdo. A few months later, Spike asked Ken for an Ace Ventura. True to his nature, Ken delivered. Hair was cut, sculpted and sprayed.

Such an earth shattering moment in the life of a mother deserved a quick stop at the grandmother’s on the way home. Mak reacted with her usual hand over mouth hiding her cheeky smile and stopping possible bloopers. All she said was:

“Adoi! bergaya sakan cucu Tok” :D

The hairdo stayed hard until the next morning when he turned up at the kindy but my son came home later that day all grumpy, sweaty and flat due to Cikgu Ju’s preoccupation with Dil Mere Dil during their physical education session.

Between then and now, there have been many different ones.  And that was only Spike!

Last Thursday, I took the kids for a hair cut again. Unfortunately M - the one that we usually go to - was fully booked until the end of October. I ended up having to call around and it was flabbergasting to learn that all of them were all booked this week and next. One can begin to wonder what on earth is going on on this island for there has never been one time when I walk passed these saloons and see them dealing with more than ONE sole customer. Hairdressing is good business here. They have short working days and they charge sky high.

And thus by a twist of fate we ended up at TF, a newly opened saloon whose receptionist sounded as if she came straight from the military office. Had it not been for the boys’ unkempt hair, I would have preferred to wait for M’s first available slot. Our arrival at TF that day was coldly received by the stylist, whom I suspect were the one who answered the phone. Spike commented on the arrogance as she walked past us many times but somehow did not ‘see’ nor greet us. Finally she mumbled something that sounded like she was talking to us. I presumed she was ready and so I asked EJ to tell her how he wanted his hair done.

“Like a punk.”

“You can’t go to school looking like a punk!”

“But I want punk hairdo, Ma”

Ms Military was impatient because the whole conversation was in English and she does not speak English. EJ and I quickly agreed on something and I prayed that she would not give him a cut with an attitude that does not befit a fourth grader. While we wait for EJ, Missy insisted that she too should have a hair cut or at least a bit of styling. What she did not realise was that here in Norway there is a price even for the stylist to heat her curling tong! (OK that’s probably exaggerating things a bit but hey! it’s not far from the truth)

EJ’s hairstyle got Mama’s approval and Missy was talked out of the whole styling business. Spike …

Well, he requested long sideburns this time.