"Pete- The Pretty Panda" -Searches for the Best Barber
Hola Amigos,
That's Spanish for "Hi, Friends". Yes, I am getting better at speaking Spanish day by day. Two thumbs up! Well, actually, I am learning out of dire necessity. Let me explain. Although the lovely people here in my new home of Puerto Rico speak English, I've found that a lot of them don't or speak very little of it. It has generally been okay for me so far. I've learnt that vendors say the same things to you and I've mastered the various responses for those questions in Spanish. It wasn't until today that I realized I have been living in a house of cards. Not like an actual house of cards, although that would be so cool, but in a more "metaphoric" way. I'm not sure it's the right word, but the internet says it is, so it must be.
Anywho, my epiphany all started this morning. You see, Pandas have a lot of hair and Pretty Panda's like me need to keep good maintenance of our hair. To do that, we need a barber, but not just any barber, a really, really good barber. I had one of the best barbers around when I was still in Chicago. He knew just what to do to make me look extra pretty. After all, I am a Pretty Panda, so I need to make sure my hair is pretty too. Now that I am in the beautiful Island of Puerto Rico, I am in serious need of a barber that understands how to make a Panda extra, extra pretty! I'm still pretty new to the island and I don't know many people who could tell me where the best barbers are. My hair/fur is now getting to the length of a sloth's, which if you've ever seen a sloth you'd know it's not a look for a Pretty Panda. I mean, sloths are pretty as well, but their look wouldn't be so pretty on me or any panda for that matter. So yes, I am in serious trouble.
I've decided that the best way for me to find the best barber is to walk. Walk and walk and walk until I come across any barber shop in this town. There is no way of knowing if they are going to be the best, let alone good, but any hair/fur cut is better than none! So I walked. I walked until my poor Panda legs couldn't walk anymore. I saw a lot of shops. Many offered yummy food, some sold supplies that are supposed to make you prettier, which I don't need. However, none of them offered hair/fur cuts. I was beginning to lose all hope at this point. I was looking more and more deflated as I tried to walk on beyond what my legs could. I was tired, hungry, and sweaty from all the hair I still have, but I didn't give up. I couldn't. As they say, "In for a penny, in for a pound". Quite honestly, I have no idea what it really means, but I seem to hear it a lot from my best pal, Al, whenever he is in a "point of no return" situation like this one. I'm just going to assume that I'm using it the right way.
Anyway, where was I? Oh yea, I was tired and sweaty and still walking. Searching for any barber shop in my town. Suddenly, I saw from a distance, a very familiar sight. It was a sign with the classic red, white, and blue swirl that barber shops are known for. It felt like home! I knew was saved. My legs started to regain their strength and I dashed full force towards the sign. As soon as I walked in, the familiar waft of barbershop smell filled my nose and I knew I was going to be okay.
In that instance, I really believed that I was going to be okay and I kept believing it until I spoke with the receptionist. She spoke no English, which is a problem because I spoke very, very, very little Spanish. I tried to recall the spanish words for hair and cut and other words that I'm failing to recall at the moment. Sadly, my attempt to convey what I wanted failed. Not even my elaborate hand gestures succeeded. Even though, I have been told, that I am really good at charades. Some might say, I am an expert in charades. So why did the receptionist not understand me at all? Well, who knows. Maybe she wasn't so good at charades or maybe I am a bit rusty.
Well, in any case, back to my story. After I attempted and failed to converse with the receptionist. She hands me off to a hair person. I didn't quite catch his name because he also spoke no English. All I know is that after almost two hours with him, I was changed forever. I mean that in a very literal sense. The process itself wasn't changing at all. In fact, it was very silent. I could hear the crickets all over. It was the "after" reveal that was, um, quite interesting. Let's just say, I do not look like the Pretty Panda you know. Although, from the right angle, I think my new look does work. Yea, it does. It is pretty. It's new. It's modern. I am still pretty. I'm still a Panda, which is good. Umm, I am a trendsetter. A fashionista. I am, err, very, very, super, bold. I'd show you, but I don't have a photo yet. Not a single one...... It's a lie! I'm sorry friends, I do have a photo. Of course I do! Pretty Pandas always have photos of themselves. I'm just afraid to show you. Maybe you won't think I'm Pretty anymore. You might even not want to be my friend after seeing it. Will you?
Oh what the heck. I'll still be your friend and that's all that matters. Pretty comes from inside and I need to remember that. Who cares if I look little like Donald Trump? No one! Certainly NOT this Panda. For the record, I am pretty sure that I didn't say or gesture "make me look like Trump. No one wants to have hair/ fur like Trump. Zilch.
Okay, I am going to put a picture of me now, just below this post, with my new look. You guys can tell me your honest opinions, comments, or concerns. if you wish, that is.
I would like you to keep this in mind, friends. I think you are all pretty whoever and wherever you are. No matter what you look like. So try to think of that when you see my new look. Pretty Please...
Smiles All Around,
Pete
"The, um, Pretty-ish Panda"
#trumphairday #badhairday #nohablaspanish @therealdonaldtrump
That's Spanish for "Hi, Friends". Yes, I am getting better at speaking Spanish day by day. Two thumbs up! Well, actually, I am learning out of dire necessity. Let me explain. Although the lovely people here in my new home of Puerto Rico speak English, I've found that a lot of them don't or speak very little of it. It has generally been okay for me so far. I've learnt that vendors say the same things to you and I've mastered the various responses for those questions in Spanish. It wasn't until today that I realized I have been living in a house of cards. Not like an actual house of cards, although that would be so cool, but in a more "metaphoric" way. I'm not sure it's the right word, but the internet says it is, so it must be.
Anywho, my epiphany all started this morning. You see, Pandas have a lot of hair and Pretty Panda's like me need to keep good maintenance of our hair. To do that, we need a barber, but not just any barber, a really, really good barber. I had one of the best barbers around when I was still in Chicago. He knew just what to do to make me look extra pretty. After all, I am a Pretty Panda, so I need to make sure my hair is pretty too. Now that I am in the beautiful Island of Puerto Rico, I am in serious need of a barber that understands how to make a Panda extra, extra pretty! I'm still pretty new to the island and I don't know many people who could tell me where the best barbers are. My hair/fur is now getting to the length of a sloth's, which if you've ever seen a sloth you'd know it's not a look for a Pretty Panda. I mean, sloths are pretty as well, but their look wouldn't be so pretty on me or any panda for that matter. So yes, I am in serious trouble.
I've decided that the best way for me to find the best barber is to walk. Walk and walk and walk until I come across any barber shop in this town. There is no way of knowing if they are going to be the best, let alone good, but any hair/fur cut is better than none! So I walked. I walked until my poor Panda legs couldn't walk anymore. I saw a lot of shops. Many offered yummy food, some sold supplies that are supposed to make you prettier, which I don't need. However, none of them offered hair/fur cuts. I was beginning to lose all hope at this point. I was looking more and more deflated as I tried to walk on beyond what my legs could. I was tired, hungry, and sweaty from all the hair I still have, but I didn't give up. I couldn't. As they say, "In for a penny, in for a pound". Quite honestly, I have no idea what it really means, but I seem to hear it a lot from my best pal, Al, whenever he is in a "point of no return" situation like this one. I'm just going to assume that I'm using it the right way.
Anyway, where was I? Oh yea, I was tired and sweaty and still walking. Searching for any barber shop in my town. Suddenly, I saw from a distance, a very familiar sight. It was a sign with the classic red, white, and blue swirl that barber shops are known for. It felt like home! I knew was saved. My legs started to regain their strength and I dashed full force towards the sign. As soon as I walked in, the familiar waft of barbershop smell filled my nose and I knew I was going to be okay.
In that instance, I really believed that I was going to be okay and I kept believing it until I spoke with the receptionist. She spoke no English, which is a problem because I spoke very, very, very little Spanish. I tried to recall the spanish words for hair and cut and other words that I'm failing to recall at the moment. Sadly, my attempt to convey what I wanted failed. Not even my elaborate hand gestures succeeded. Even though, I have been told, that I am really good at charades. Some might say, I am an expert in charades. So why did the receptionist not understand me at all? Well, who knows. Maybe she wasn't so good at charades or maybe I am a bit rusty.
Well, in any case, back to my story. After I attempted and failed to converse with the receptionist. She hands me off to a hair person. I didn't quite catch his name because he also spoke no English. All I know is that after almost two hours with him, I was changed forever. I mean that in a very literal sense. The process itself wasn't changing at all. In fact, it was very silent. I could hear the crickets all over. It was the "after" reveal that was, um, quite interesting. Let's just say, I do not look like the Pretty Panda you know. Although, from the right angle, I think my new look does work. Yea, it does. It is pretty. It's new. It's modern. I am still pretty. I'm still a Panda, which is good. Umm, I am a trendsetter. A fashionista. I am, err, very, very, super, bold. I'd show you, but I don't have a photo yet. Not a single one...... It's a lie! I'm sorry friends, I do have a photo. Of course I do! Pretty Pandas always have photos of themselves. I'm just afraid to show you. Maybe you won't think I'm Pretty anymore. You might even not want to be my friend after seeing it. Will you?
Oh what the heck. I'll still be your friend and that's all that matters. Pretty comes from inside and I need to remember that. Who cares if I look little like Donald Trump? No one! Certainly NOT this Panda. For the record, I am pretty sure that I didn't say or gesture "make me look like Trump. No one wants to have hair/ fur like Trump. Zilch.
Okay, I am going to put a picture of me now, just below this post, with my new look. You guys can tell me your honest opinions, comments, or concerns. if you wish, that is.
I would like you to keep this in mind, friends. I think you are all pretty whoever and wherever you are. No matter what you look like. So try to think of that when you see my new look. Pretty Please...
Smiles All Around,
Pete
"The, um, Pretty-ish Panda"
#trumphairday #badhairday #nohablaspanish @therealdonaldtrump
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| Blondes have more fun right?? It's science! |
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