While I’m not really phobic about it, the prospect of finding a new hairdresser does fill me with dread.

Because it just doesn’t take much to screw-up naturally curly hair…turning beautiful long spiral locks into a 30-something Shirley Temple.

I usually have pretty good luck if I can find a hairdresser who shares my predicament…but the chances of finding one here in Korea are slim to none.

That would be because the beauty salon on post, run by AAFES, employs only Korean nationals who’s English leaves something to be desired.

But hey, they’re doing better than me. They can at least say a few words while I’m still struggling with the correct pronunciation of hello.

So I got a haircut before I left the states & waited as long as I could…but come August, I was in desperate need of a cut.

So I steeled myself, went in and wound-up having the worst experience ever.

Don’t get me wrong – the cut itself wasn’t bad…not great…but not disastrous which is always a plus.

The hairdresser asked,‘Saymuh schtyle?’ and before I could get a word out proceeded to call over another petite Korean woman.

Suddenly they were hoisting up the chair, with me in it - grimaces on their faces & grunting as if I was Moby Dick incarnate.

With that humiliation over, all I could think of was let’s just hurry up & get through this.

But no…

Humiliation was not done with me.

While I wish I had a picture to better show you, I’m afraid all I can do is describe it.

In the salon, the chairs are fixed to the floor about 3 & a half feet out in front of the hair-washing sink. There’s no separation of getting your hair washed in the back & walking back up front to get it cut. It’s an all-in-one kinda deal.

Which…ok, while different…is not horrible.

The horrible part is that the chairs aren’t positioned to correctly recline so that your head falls straight into the bowl when they lower the back.

Nope. There’s a good 12 to 15 inch gap.

So immediately after I was hoisted up like some great white whale, I was pointed at, mumbled at & pushed back to sit further & further up the back of the chair.

Not the seat, mind you…the actual back of the chair.

By the time they had me “in position” with the smock over me, the only way I could comfortably stay put so they could wash my hair was by putting my feet up into the seat.

One minute I felt like a whale, the next with my feet up & the smock over me it was like I was in some twisted gynecological exam on public display.

The hairdressers all gathered round speaking Hangul while the one cut my hair.

While I wish I could say I was exaggerating…I am not.

Hand to God, that’s how it happened.

Is that the same process every wife has to go through in order to get her hair cut?…I don’t know.

While I would like to think it was a one-time, off-day….my hair desperately needs cutting again and I’m feeling tonsurephobic.