Poor Honey has a curse. In no time at all, a perfectly lovely haircut turns into long womanly locks of hair, some locks looking more like they are meant to hide things, than others. It gets sad. Then his gray hair starts to get a pubic-y quality, it's not nice. Even worse are the relentless days of his parents calling: "Hello? Heidi? Is that you? Did he cut his hair yet?" This last round they reduced themselves to bribing him. They have gone off to Poland for a holiday. In the car, on the way to the airport, Honey's mother chirped "Well, here I thought I would at least see a hair cut. I got bubkus! That's it, little balls of shit!"
The last round of hair cut drama just around his birthday, was no exception - Honey stubbornly refusing to cut his locks, his parents pressuring me for him to cut his hair, and by the end of it, me worrying about Honey's mental state given his disregard for his appearance.
On the night before he succumbed to the pressure, we went out for our usual Friday night Indian food dinner. Honey sat with his back to the rest of the restaurant while I faced the crowd. Our waiter (Kabal, remember!) came rushing to our table, with a big smile greeting me, and when he arrived and saw Honey he had a look of surprise and then started laughing away. He turned to me and said "Oh Madame Dansak, I saw it was you and I thought you were with another woman" (meaning Honey!) and he howled, "But it's not it's Mr. Bangalore, mwahahaha"! I didn't need a special invitation, I howled right along with him. Poor Honey, all he could do was order the beer.