Sunday, January 9, 2011

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My walking in Milan barbers

with the hairdresser I always were the relations of the category of "love-hate", and in Milan, too, and even more so out on a new level.

My love affair with Milan barbers began as much right on Via Montenapoleone, where a "modest" the patio is conveniently located in a beauty salon, strongly recommended to me - mind focused! - My wife, colleagues, her father. I a new haircut, and I'll probably, despite the left there tugriks, its going to the temple of beauty would still be happy if I suddenly did not spoil a haircut installation. Apparently - and this, I am the way, then another, repeatedly convinced - Italian masters used to work with heavy, unruly hair local beauties, and even noting the differences between Slavic and Italian braids, stubbornly unwilling to change or honed the skills of shearing or iron principles laying. In short, I went out into the street Montenapoleone a la "Mein Fuehrer": with a short bob, a sleek carefully waxed, it's my way individual strands have tried highlight, yeah ...

Then an unfortunate misunderstanding, I announced a boycott Milanese barber shop for a couple of months, after which, accompanied by colleagues went recommended in her parlor directly behind the Duomo. All is good, but my new hairdresser - and part-owner and institutions - had two large deficiency. Firstly, it was extremely slow: when he clipped me, I have the impression that he speaks with each individual hair on the my head, because otherwise how to explain the two-hour continuous purring over my head! And secondly, it became hard to invite me to dine together after each cut. Oh, and he cut my bangs definitely standing, and I was dizzy to stand still. ... And yet it somehow, even trim bangs, randomly vystrig my eyebrow. I have some time had a very Vidocq alternative))) In general, the year I had treacherously abandoned. Just remember with nostalgia his assistant Yoshi who did quite a fantastic scalp massage!

After this incident, I sheared either in Florence, a master-in-law, or in random hairdressers, zarulivali where we are on vacation, while the other is my colleague did not took me to one of the French network of salons. There has been a fast, accurately and inexpensively in terms of haircuts, but with down again desperately unlucky: I'm back again in two months was like Hitler ... My attempts to explain what I wanted to see on your head stumbled on an absolutely empty and blank looks. So I decided that from complexes because of unsuccessful placement and score the most empty subway car - is unproductive, and yesterday went to the salon on the same network, but close to home.

And you know, that was a real revelation! It turns out that our tourists travel to Italy Not only poshopitsya, but go to the barber shop: buy shampoo and tidy himself up. While I was sitting there, running around our girls discharged flocks cherished for a magic bullet, but heavy gaze of our compatriot, unabashedly stared at me, I have noticed in the mirror. Lady sheared, paint and did the weave ... I already felt ashamed: there people from behind a hill to Milan hairdressers go, and I whole two and a half years, all sorted out and pick! But I venture to express a timid hope that Pygmalion finally found his Galatea, because, apparently, I better cut their girls, not boys ... And how are you, dear Russian Italian?

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