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SIX WEEKS PART I

My hairdresser has refused to cut my hair.

"I've already planned your next hair cut and your hair needs to be longer," he explained with a pained expression on his face.

"But my fringe is very annoying and keeps poking into my eyes," I protested with an equally pained expression.

"If it is really very irritating, I can cut it..." his voice trailed off and his expression became even more pained. "But if you can keep it for a few more weeks, it will be very nice."

"How long more?"

"You come back in six weeks, ok? I'll cut for you."

"SIX WEEKS???" I wailed.

I suppose I should be glad that my hairdresser cares enough to plan my next hair cut. But I can't believe he is now dictating when and how I should cut my hair.

SIX WEEKS PART II

"When are you going to climb your mountain again?"

"Next week," he replied gleefully, filling me on his plans to white-water raft, take photos of holy men who never bathe and spend time with his Nepalese mistress and his brood of illegitimate kids.

"When will you be back? I need you to help me shoot some photos of my clothes leh."

"I'm going for six weeks."

"SIX WEEKS???" I wailed.

SIX WEEKS PART III

The lease has been signed and we're officially in business.

By the end of April, we should be able to go into our newly rented place at Chip Bee Gardens and survey the terrace house that will be our showroom-cum-sweatshop as well as my new bachelor-girl pad.

By the end of May, we should be decorating in earnest. Already, we're picking out colour schemes, thinking of where to hang chandeliers, scavenging for second-hand furniture and appliances.

How to wait another SIX WEEKS???

SIX WEEKS PART IV

The countdown to New York, as of today, is precisely SIX WEEKS.