Salut,
At my childhood barbershop, there is a permanent sign that hangs above the mirror, on which is written, "Free Haircuts Tomorrow." I remember reading it with excitement and bewilderment, until I eventually grasped the humorous ploy (or maybe my dad just explained it to me; really don't remember).
In the name of segues everywhere, tomorrow I have a haircut. I am going to a lycée des métiers des arts de la coiffure, a rather verbose way of saying "haircutting school." If the French had a "Hamburger University," they'd probably find at least a seven-word name for it. Pretentious bâtards.
With my faded Illinois Wesleyan University card, I will try to pass as a university student, entitling me to a 2euro reduction and thus a 5euro haircut. Who's pullin' fast ones now, barbershops?
So am I walking into a certain self-esteem train wreck, such as that experienced by my brother in high school when he rang up a local hottie, asked her to a dance, received a shocking reply of "Yes," only to later be told that she thought she had been speaking to a different Michael? By putting the scissors in the hands of a student (the lycée above means "high school"... gulp), I may very well be. But that's part of the fun.
And tomorrow, YOU have a blog post coming, so do hurry back. And this is no ploy.
[Author reserves the right to dip into both time zones for his claims. He will write it tomorrow, Wednesday, probably for final publishing my Thursday but still your Wednesday.]
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