Forecast: Sunny, with a High Chance of Mullet

Having reserved my appointment at the too-hip-for-you Juan, Por Dios! (Juan, for the love of God!) a week earlier, I've been growing my hair out as fast as I could and waiting eagerly for my fancy new hairdo. I walked in, and they served me a Coke as I waited. Immediately I was impressed, but I calmly withheld judgment until actually meeting my hair stylist. Her name was Bea(triz). She cracked a joke about the Pope and I decided that she should be my new hairstylist forever and ever. I allowed her to work her styling magic, only stopping her for a moment to tell her that I am an English teacher so it couldn't be anything too... I hesitated at a proper adjective. "...Extravagant?" She suggested. I knew right away the kinds of extravagancies she could come up with. I nodded my head.

She snipped and pulled as little as possible, saying at one point, "I'm sorry, does this hurt?"
I began, "Well, not really..." but was quickly cut off.
"Sweetie, Fashion is Pain." She whipped my chair around dramatically to face the mirror.