Last week I made a quick run to the super market after I got home from what seemed like a day of work that knew no end. It was a hot Southern California evening. The sun was slowly sinking into the horizon and as per usual, I was nearing negative digits in my “how good do you feel about your self today” percentage meter. I usually start the day off feeling around 70 percent, 80 if I’m lucky - but by the time my makeup wears away, I start to feel uncomfortable in my clothes and my hair becomes more and more frazzled, the plunge into dangerously low numbers is inevitable.

On this evening, my hair was pretty frazzled. As anyone with Middle Eastern descent knows, our hair is not suited to all kinds of weather. We pine after the straight, thin hair of our American/English/Swedish counterparts, all the while struggling to tame the lion’s mane on our heads. Sure, our waves and curls and thick like-rope-strands hair are envied, but when you go to a supposedly highly qualified stylist, and she suggests cutting channels in your hair, then makes you look like a china doll, but not before charging you an extra $25 because you have thick/long hair, you start to get a bit tired.

I drove into the parking lot, got out of the car and reluctantly went to pick up the few things on my list. I didn’t spend a lot of time in there, and I know this because usually I will glance into every single isle, trying to invent a million things I think I need, therefore justifying the money I’d like to spend on it, before I move on to the baking section, where I ooh and ahh about the spices, the beautifully chopped nuts, the cookie cutters, the molds! Oh the molds! And the marzipan! I must have the marzipan!

When I came back to my car, it wasn’t until I had backed out of my parking space when I realized that someone had covertly placed a 3 x 5 card securely in my window wiper. Oh God, I thought, it must either be a postcard telling me to see the light and praise Jesus or some coupons for a restaurant I’ve never heard of or seen in my life. In the two minutes it took to pull into my driveway, I pondered the possibilities.

Lo and behold, it wasn’t about repenting or discounts, it was something far more dangerous.

“NEW Keratin Smoothing Treatment. Tames frizz and curls for sleek, more manageable hair! Introductory price of $175 ($75 savings).”

At first glance, I didn’t think much of it, but then I began to realize that some rogue stylist maven had been camping out in that parking lot, just waiting for the next frazzly, wavy haired girl to come along, so that she could try enticing her to tame her hair, one keratin smoothing treatment at a time.

Internet, I was being targeted.

It was a ploy, a ploy to turn every girl who dares to wear her wavy, unstyled hair to the super market into a stick straight salon hair clone, like the model on the card who has staring at me, naked, with cascading straight brown locks falling past her shoulder.

Oh, Liana, you say. Get over yourself. Surely, this was just a mass produced card put on every car’s window in that parking structure.

Orly?

I sincerely beg to differ. This is not a universal service. It’s not for men or women with straight hair, therefore, for someone to put these cards randomly on every car would really be a waste of time and energy. No, a smart stylist would stake out a hiding place and carefully maneuver her cards on the vehicles where she felt the driver’s hair was in need of a frizz tame because of her unmanageable hair.

And that person, on this lovely day, happened to be me.

As I type, I’ve finally ripped that card in half, after hanging on to it so I can share its beautiful prose with you all.

So, dear stylist, dear salon - thank you, but no. I do not want, nor do I need (contrary to what you may think) a smoothing treatment. I like my hair for the most part, in all its wild glory. And you know what? If I want to make a run to the supermarket with my hair in its (gasp!) natural state, I will it. How’s that for a smoothing treatment?