The Haircut

My hairdresser that I’ve been going to for eight years had a baby last June and has decided to not do hair anymore. I’m super bummed about this. She did a pretty good job with my hair but the thing I’ll miss the most is having my face waxed afterwards. She’d get my lip, sideburns and get that one pesky hair that grows out of my chin at such an angle that I can feel it but I can never see it. For all that waxing she would charge me $12. Such a bargain! I could get out of the salon for $50 including the tip! No wonder I loved her!

The salon was nothing special and it’s client bast definitely skewed toward old ladies. I loved walking in because there would be several ladies in a row under the hair dryers (not the hand-held ones! The old-fashioned  kind that looks like you have a bucket on your head.) It felt like I was in some sort of movie filled with eccentric old ladies and we’d all meet at the beauty parlor to talk things out. I didn’t know any of these ladies but they were always sweet and entertaining.

The idea of finding a new hairdresser was paralyzing. You know what I’m talking about, right? Either the person doesn’t make your hair look right, or they’re weird or, worst of all, they are snooty. I went to a hair salon about fifteen years ago and requested a particular haircut. The haircut–a stacked A-line bob–was still unknown and not popular at all. The stylist did a little eye-roll and said, “I haven’t done a haircut like that in ages.” Like I was requesting a mullet or something. I felt so terrible and self-conscious that I never went back to that salon even though it was a really good cut. And joke’s on that stylist because that same haircut came back with a vengeance about two years later. (Was I the one who brought it back? I’m going to say yes!)

So after my stylist left to have her baby in June I didn’t ever get my hair cut. Let me do the math for you: I last had my haircut in early June and now it’s the beginning of February. Um, yikes! Naturally I trimmed my own bangs from time to time, but for the most part my head had nasty witch hair with dead ends at least four inches long. The worst thing was putting it in a ponytail. I’d have to hide the scissors to keep from chopping it all off in one swoop.

Yesterday Mister walked in, handed me some cash and said, “get your hair cut!” I found a salon that looked promising and called in requesting the first lady who had an opening. Luck was smiling on me. The salon was excellent–very nice without seeming snooty and the stylist did an excellent job. She even buttered me up by telling me that I only looked 30 at the most and that she only found one grey hair. YES! Alas, waxing was out of my budget this trip (and thankfully my facial hair is actually growing less these days for some reason).

Now I can raise my head high again. Except not too high lest you see that one chin hair I’ve got.

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