It was just another ordinary, mundane day at lab. Macho Girl and I were going about our work as usual, day-dreaming about the million and one more interesting (and fun!) things we could be doing with our time. As can be guessed, it was as drab a day as could ever be.
Now, MG and I knew that if we were going to survive through the day, we needed to entertain ourselves. By virtue of spending many a boring day at lab, she and I have grown used to utilizing the ordinary supplies around us to make life interesting. (We only do this during long incubation periods, ‘kay? We’re good students in general!) On this particular day, MG was choosing to entertain herself with some origami. A pair of pink scissors and some colourful construction paper around her, she was perfecting her latest work of art – lilies.
I should’ve known what was going to happen just by watching her fiddle around with the scissors. Flash-back to the weekend. On MG’s persistence, I went to a salon in Clementi to get myself a fringe. I don’t know what inspired this sudden craze, but out of the blue, both of us wanted to know what I’d look like with a fringe. We photoshopped some pictures of me to see what it could potentially end up looking like, and when we realized it didn’t really do much to detract from my facial features (and that the Clementi salon was offering really cheap fringe cuts), we took the first opportunity to go over and get the fringe (and the discount!).
When I came out of the salon that Saturday evening, I didn’t feel any different. Unfortunately, I didn’t look any different either. The guy, over-estimating the curliness of my hair, hadn’t cut the fringe short enough, so it sort of blended with the rest of my hair. I was devastated. Granted, the whole thing had just cost me 6 bucks (and after my last 18$ hair-cut, that seemed mighty cheap), but I didn’t have anything to show at the end of it all! I decided that maybe when I washed my hair, it would curl up to the length it should be and everything would be alright. It was not to be. Sunday’s hair-wash proved that the salon guy had, indeed, over-estimated the power of my curls. The fringe was too long!
Flash-forward to the present. Er, not-too-distant past. Whatever. Anyway, after completing our chores for the day at lab, MG and I had a sudden brainwave. We’d been wondering if we could just cut the fringe ourselves, but the plan hadn’t really materialized. It must’ve been the sheer boredom that prompted us to do something like this, but we decided to cut off the extra-long fringe, right then and there in lab, despite not having any prior experience in hair-cutting whatsoever.
And yet we took the plunge, for brave (and reckless) were we. With quivering hands and a nervous heart, MG chopped through my fringe with the bluntest scissors known to mankind. Scissors which, I might add, had been dipped in liquid nitrogen several times before. (Yes, we realize that we both would suck at hospital work. Or, you know, any job that requires sterile conditions. Like, erm, researchers. Yeah, whatever. Stop guffawing!)
A tense minute later (though it seemed like an eternity), the job was done. I took a cautious peek at the mirror and found myself staring into a face framed by suddenly stylish-looking hair. Success! MG and I congratulated ourselves on a job well done (while simultaneously breathing a huge sigh of relief that we hadn’t mutilated anything beyond recognition). All was well in Hair Land once more! Woohoo!