The sound of scissors sounds familiar, but today there’s more tension in the air. My hairdresser, who usually works quietly and meticulously, frowns slightly at my head. “It’s not easy,” she says, examining the table balanced on my head. The table barely wobbles, but I feel it with every movement—a slight tilt, the risk that a glass might tip over or a fork might go askew. “The legs,” I say with a smile that masks my uncertainty, “they have to be just right.” Her eyes drift to the four points that bear the weight of the table. It’s an art to find the right balance, especially without having to re-set the table. Everything is already perfect: the glasses glisten, the cutlery is impeccably arranged, and the small plastic plant looks like it came straight from a miniature garden.