I just got one of the worst haircuts in my life today. I work in Washington, DC, and it was blisteringly hot today. I was drenched in sweat. I was eager to get my hair cut, so I went somewhere I don't usually go. I don't even remember the name of the place.

The lady who cut my hair - her name was Bianca. She was from Guatemala. We spoke Spanish. I am going to Malaga soon, and she complimented me, surprised that I could speak Spanish so well. She was surprised that a white boy who looks so American could learn her native tongue.

Some people think that concern about one's looks is vanity, of an arrogant sort. Not for me; I'm just self-conscious.

Of all the times to get a bad haircut, today had to be the day! DAMMIT!

The moral of the story is, do your due diligence before letting some scissor-happy urban stylist touch your coiff. Now I'm forced to wear my Kangol hat out to the bars. Which I hate doing. Cuz it makes people think I'm ashamed of my hair (or that I'm bald). And truthfully, now, I am ashamed of my hair, but what can I do?