there's nothing better than a lazy weeknight spent at home (rather than in the center of a classroom full of confused students) with the wee toddler off at his father's house and the boyfriend away at work. nights like these were created for the hot pink mumu, leopard print slippers, and a pint of ben & jerry's new york super fudge chunk ice cream.

you can only imagine my disdain when i heard a car crunching up our gravel driveway. i briefly considered running to the back and throwing on some real clothes, but since i knew it'd either be my sister or a friend, i opted to stay firmly planted beneath my purple fleece throw and scoop out another white chocolate chunk while waiting for my intruder to make it to the door.

i heard the screen door open so i reached over from my space on the couch and opened the door.

jesus h. christ!!! it was andy! my old stylist! how the fuck did that man track me down all the way from boston!

he immediately grabbed my head in his slim, dainty hands and jerked it first left, then right. "look at these split ends!" he screamed while letting my head go and throwing off his coat. "we MUST do something about this!"

i had drawn up into fetal position, but with him towering over me with all the attitude and self-possession of bobby trendy, i decided to attempt to defend myself.

"i was gonna get it cut, andy, i swear!" i began as he opened up his black bag and began setting up an impromptu cutting station. "see, i just didn't have the time. and then the money, and it kinda looks good longer, no?" that last attempt was feeble. i knew it as well as he did.

dragging a chair in from the kitchen, andy began interrogating me. he demanded to know: why hadn't i been in to get my hair done in almost a year? who had i let massacre the style he'd given me? who convinced me that the long stringly look was in? did i know i resembled a cracked out chia head?!

i had forgotten this side of my sweet gay asian stylist. normally his wild color streaks and plaid-paired-with-floral ensembles came across as charming. however, faced with this while clad in nothing but the mumu and no longer wielding my ben & jerry's for protection, andy became a monster of hair-raising proportions.

he sat me down and proceeded to jerk and twist my hair into sections. he then reprimanded me about my moisturizing habits. i had almost convinced him to leave it a little longer when he saw the piece de resistance.

i had cut a section myself! i didn't mean to - it just happened! but, try explaining that to your overbearing monstrous stylist! i tried to explain to him that i fell asleep in a ponytail, only i had used a rubber band, and my hair got all tangled and i had no choice - it was either cut it out or rip it from the root!

andy's face turned white with rage. i cringed in my kitchen chair, trying to brace for what looked like the buildup for cheek-stinging slap. however, he whipped out a smock and bent my head forward - keeping it in place with his hand. a few seconds later i heard a buzzing.

dude, i was freaking the fuck out! i couldn't see anything cause he had my head down, but i'll be damned if i couldn't feel it when he set the clippers against the base of my neck. and i'll be damned if i didn't start screaming as my shorn locks began to fall like slain snakes all around me!

i tried to struggle with him, but he only held me down harder. at one point i thought he was gonna snap my neck! after an arduous five minutes, he released me and began cleaning up his supplies. all i could do was run my useless hands over my now shaved head.

"andy!" i half-cried, half-screamed. "why did you do this?! what the fuck did i do to deserve this?!" i was now kneeling, trying to somehow piece my hair back together.

andy's chuckle almost sent me flying across the room for his jugular. he said, "look. you get what you put out. you think you can just stop coming to ME? you think i'm going to let you ruin MY hair styles?"

his anger, which should have been appeased by my hairless head, came back full force. he was bent over me, screaming in my face about loyalty and friendship and professionalism. i simply hung my head and took the verbal beratement.

i was still kneeling there, holding a handful of my preciously grown hair, the ben & jerry's completely forgotten as it melted into the carpet, when he whisked back into his coat and made for the door.

"let this be a lesson," he warned, "don't ever fuck with your stylist!" and with that, he slammed the door behind him.