So I have been thinking lately (not really, just within the last 10 minutes) that I really need a haircut. Only problem with haircuts is that I hate the awkward moments when you feel obligated to talk to your hairdresser. My hairdresser (thanks to dididudu) is named Molly. I absolutely adore Molly. Molly is from Japan and speaks very little English (but assume very proficient at throwing the double peace sign). Most of the time she just nods, smiles and agrees with me. I can't help but to feel that she is just being polite and honestly does not understand a word I say. Actually, I know she doesn't since I like to pepper my sentences with random Spanish (example - "My weekend? Oh, it was fine. Me gusta cocinar mi cama."). Should it matter to me? I guess not...I should be lucky....I'd rather have Molly than some chatty Cathy. So that's how our relationship (me and Molly, not me and whomever is reading this) stays copacetic. That's the trade-off; our lack of communication keep us friendly, but our lack of understanding also keeps us at arm's length.