Blow-dried into Submission

There are some things that Chileans just don't like. 
1. A bare table. God forbid even a sip of water is taken if there isn't a placemat underneath. 
2. Slippers. They can't imagine why ANYONE would WANT to have their bare feet touch the GROUND! And socks just don't cut it.
3. A stuffy room. After the bed is made in the morning, the windows in the bedrooms are opened to "air out the sleep." Snow and rain are negligible factors.
4. Wet hair. Hair dryers are a Chilean's best friend. 

Up until last night, I was made aware of these in a very passive aggressive manner. (Aren't your feet cold? Don't you want to air out your room? Here is a placemat so you don't have to look at the ugly table.) It has also become customary that I return to my room at the end of the day to find my window has been opened and a pair of slippers positioned strategically by the door. And then, last night,  the passive was dropped and it became flat out aggressive. 

I take my showers at night and no matter how lightly I try to tiptoe back to my room, my host mom comes barreling around the corner to comment on my wet hair and how I will get sick if I go to bed with wet hair. Every. Time. I usually joke my way out of it, throw my hair in a wet bun and that's the end of it. 

Last night, I went to bed around 11pm and was fast asleep before my head hit the pillow. I was happily in dream world when I was rudely awoken by a gust of warm wind and the unmistakable drone of a blow dryer. Surely not. But yes, there she was. My host mother. Armed with a blow dryer, trying, ever so discreetly, to dry my hair (which is an oxymoron if I've ever heard one) as I slept. Fine. Fine. FINE! I surrender. I now reserve 7 extra minutes of my bedtime ritual for hair-drying. Can't a girl catch pneumonia in peace?!