Just a quick update:

I am leaving for the US in approximately 25 hours, and I'm so not ready! I have so much to do in the next 25 hours and so little time! (only 25 hours, to be exact.) Aaaaagh.

Cute story: My sister and nephews are already at my parents' house for Pesach. When I called a couple of days ago, my 4-year-old nephew asked, as he always does, "When you come MY house?" (his speech development is impaired, though he's otherwise a very smart little kid.) This time he said "When you come Nana and Sabba's house?" Usually I say "I'm sorry, I can't come to your house, I live too far away." But this time I said "Well, I'm coming on Thursday!" He literally GASPED and I heard him put the phone down and say "Nana! Sabba! Doda come your house!" God, he is so adorable.

In other news, I got my hair cut yesterday. Which reminds me, here's another thing for the Things My Shaliach Never Told Me file. You know how, in America, before you get your hair cut, there's a person who washes your hair? And it feels really nice because, for a minute there, it's like a head massage, right?

Well, in Israel, these people who wash your hair are trained in, I swear, erotic massage. At first I thought it was just the guy at my hair salon near my apartment, but then a friend in another town told me she'd had a similar experience at her salon, so it must be an Israeli thing.

So let me tell you about Amir, the guy who washes hair at Salon Ayal at the corner of Emek Refaim and Rachel Imenu streets. Amir is dark and gorgeous and wears a black t-shirt and jeans. Yum. You get the shampoo, and then two rounds of conditioner, and then . . . and then . . the most incredible, sensuous head massage of your life. I can't even describe it. The first time I went there I was stone silent while he was working, because I was afraid of what would come out of my mouth in public if I said anything. So he asks me "You like?" and I was like "Oh. My. God." This time I didn't even try to hide it. I just said "Amir, you have the magic fingers. There is nothing I would not do for you." I'm telling you, it's worth the 170 shekel just to have Amir wash your hair.

The problem comes at hair-drying time. The cut, which Ayal does himself, is great. But the way he blew it dry . . . yeah, there was a lot of volume, lots of curls . . . but I felt like I have a nest on my head. It was a very Israeli-looking, walk-on-the-wild-side kind of style, but to my puritan Bostonian tastes it looked like they were sending me out into the world with my hair a mess. I never knew my hair could . . . do that. It was . . . . different. Of course, Amir is telling me "This is how you should always do your hair. It's sexy. Very sexy!" and I said "thank you" and part of me was thinking "hey, it's nice to have a gorgeous guy tell me my hair is sexy, even if it is the gay guy who works in the salon" but part of me was thinking "Yeah, it's sexy if you like women with nests on their head."

OK, now it's time to go to sleep.