Tel Aviv Diary: Karen Alkalay-Gut

In the morning, while I was still half asleep, my friend called and got an earful about my hairdresser. You know me, these things never bother me, but from sitting around three hours with a wet head I now have a full blown sinus cold. A few hours later, Vitale himself called to apologize profusely and formally. Now why wasn’t it me to give him the dressing-down he deserved? I didn’t have the energy. I had told him all my complaints all along the way, but I was too polite and he didn’t take them seriously. Maybe Lieberman was right to do what he did with the Turks? I considered that possibility for a moment. But then the comparison fell apart, because there is one great difference between my hairdresser/me and the Turkish government/Israel. My hairdresser needs my business. He isn’t being bought by someone else.