Ode to a Long Black Hair or, Why You Should Never Get the Buffet

I am not a picky eater. Generally. (Right now I'm having some "issues" with seafood, but that's a different story). One of my favorite foods is Greek-- Gyros, Moussaka, Tsaziki sauce. (I think I spelled it right...) Today, driving cross town 40 minutes to my doctor's appointment, I went to my good friend's Greek restaurant. They make incredibly good food. They're good friends. I never knew, having never been there at lunch before, that they have a lunch buffet.

My friend looked very busy so I thought I'd be easy and just do as the rest of the line was doing and get the buffet. It looked like pretty good stuff. Gyro meat. Salad. Pitas. Some stuffed tomatoes & I think a stuffed zucchini (didn't try that one). Spiced potato wedges. The lovely Tsaziki sauce.

I got one of the tomatoes. It actually tasted pretty good-- it was the kind of stuffing you get in a Dolma (stuffed grape leaves). I like tomatoes, so was content with it. The food was not as good as normal, but it's hard to keep the quality high on a buffet, with the steam trays and all.

But about 7/8 of the way through my meal, I got a hair in my mouth.

I have long hair, so it's not at all unusual for some of my own hair to a. have a stray piece fall on my own plate and have me notice it b. while still on my head, as I turn my ponytail about, looking at something, wiggle over into my mouth and require me moving it out. At first, that's what I thought the hair was-- my own. Not a biggie. I know where my hair has been.

But on getting a second hair mixed in with a bite, I looked carefully at it. It was long and very black. Well, I know you've noticed in that picture over there that my hair is red (if you haven't look at it now). At it's darkest (under the nape) it's a dark red-brown. There's no black. Red.

Not being picky, I normally wouldn't care at all, but being pregnant, I was actually made a wee bit woozy by said hair. I'm still a little bit creeped out, frankly. Which is why I'm subjecting you to the same gross out, in the hopes that writing about it will be cathartic.

Again, since my friend was so busy, I didn't have time to pull him aside and discretely tell him that there had been a long hair in my food. It happens, I know. Anyone who has ever worked in a restaurant, or cooks for themselves regularly, knows how hard it is to prevent every single hair from ever getting into some food. And as long as it's clean hair, it's really not that big of a deal.

But man, oh man, will I sure tell them all about it later. And I fully expect much fawning over my loyalty as a friend to not point out this icky thing in front of all those other suckers paying customers. Perhaps some free desserts and a dozen long-stemmed red (no, yellow) roses in apology. And a foot massage. And maybe some sort of sparkly.

And while I trust them and love their food under normal circumstances enough to get over it and know that it is not a normal, common event, I will never, ever, order the buffet again.