If I could reasonably do this, then I would move to Oaxaca city.
|Art from one of Oaxaca's many galleries|
I mean, if I do say so myself.
Because of my Good Hair, I was exuding so much confidence (and possibly cleavage) that young waiter even asked for my phone number! Unfortunately I made the poor guy repeat himself several times because no one has ever asked me for my phone number in Spanish before.
And though I didn't actually I give it to him, I wanted to tell him how flattered I was and how he'd made my day, but my Spanish wasn't quite up to the task. Because I was flattered and it DID make my day. (I mean when was the last time a random stranger asked for my phone number?)
The minute I returned to Puebla, my hair started to droop again. Even though there are many things to love about my adopted Mexican city, good hair, alas is not one of them.