Friseur: n., a hairdresser; a coiffeur.
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Megumi was rather obsessive about her hair.
It was beautiful hair, definitely, long, fine and straight. It shined like a shampoo commercial. It was carefully washed and conditioned and blow-dried to perfection by the doctor everyday. Her regime was absolute, and she was known to panic should she be forced to forego this routine.
And of course, the loveliest hair can be ruined by a bad haircut. So, Megumi had had the same hairdresser for several years now. But this was no common hair cutting shop. Oh, no. No, this was an expensive salon, on a famous street deep in the richest part of Platinum. And the stylist in question was experienced, having taken this job as a sort of retirement after being a very famous supermodel's personal hairdresser for several years.
Megumi was one of her favorite clients. All of them had their quirks, but the friseur had found that Megumi's was the worst. Having her hair cut was so traumatic for her that as soon as she was in the chair, covered with a cloth to protect her clothes from fallen locks, she would start babbling. Not just nonsense about whatever caught her eye, but all of her deepest, innermost secrets.
It was fortunate that the hairdresser had never been the black-mailing ort, because she would have had some damn fine material to work with. As it was, she never mentioned this behavior to the nervous wreck that was Megumi. The poor woman didn't seem to recall her babbling afterwards, and perhaps it was better for her.
And so once every three months, Megumi would sit down in a plush leather seat, don a black plastic smock, and confess her deepest desires to her hair stylist.
As long as she didn't do it often, the hairdresser thought, what was the harm?
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