Author's Note: I looked up what the hair dryers were called, and they are actually called hard hat blow dryers. That amuses me. :D
Wednesday, January 12th
Dear diary,
I went over to Nookway today to buy some bug repellent, which it turns out they don't have. Of course they'd expect us to squash dirty cockroaches with our feet here. To my surprise, Nookway had turned into this huge department store called Nookington's, seemingly overnight. But of course, it still sold nothing I needed in the furniture department upstairs. I did have the lovely experience of having two echo machines that both looked exactly like a miniature Tom Nook follow me around incessantly, persuading me to buy things. Oh, joy!
I noticed something downstairs I hadn't seen before - a hair salon! Finally, something worth looking at besides the scenery, which I will admit, despite its inhabitants, is rather colourful and luxurious. When I wander into the salon I'm greeted by a poodle that talks in a southern accent and insists I sit in the chair on the left. Oh well. I finally get to have an adult luxury besides drinking coffee (for two hundred bells, of course. Assuming that this currency has the same value as dollars, that's pretty damn expensive).
So this poodle - I purged her name from memory after this bad experience - is asking me questions about myself. I think, okay, she's making conversation. There's nothing wrong with that; all hairdressers do it. Why did it not occur to me she isn't asking me what I want?
When she's done asking all of her questions she pulls a huge hard hat blow-dryer over my head. It rattles and whacks me on the head a couple of times, whilst shooting smoke and steam, which judging by her lack of reaction seems to be a normal reaction for it. This, quite frankly, worries me deeply right away. When the blow-dryer comes up, I've got three ponytails sticking out of random areas on my head. And what's worse, my hair is freaking white. Old granny, chicken coop camouflage white.
This lady tells me that the questions she were asking were to see what I wanted based on my inner soul, or some crap like that. Are you kidding me? And she still made me pay her a thousand bells. I'm now stuck looking like an aged freak. Thank you, hairdresser lady! You have my eternal gratitude. Not.