On my hair dresser.
I couldn’t help it! Really! It’s not my fault I gave into temptation! I am weak-willed!
I have had the same hair dresser for eons. I followed her to her in-home studio when she left the shop where I initially found her. I’ve been happy with her, until my past few hair cuts.
I am a hair adventurist. My motto is that it will grow back. Cut it, color it, razor it, and bob it. It’s hair and it’s an accessory. I page through magazines looking for The Perfect Hair Style. I know it exists somewhere. I am on the hunt…
She always encouraged me. Said my hair performs perfectly for so many styles. I loved the way she flattered me.
But I got into a rut and nothing was looking good. I hated my color–I seemed to always have roots–OK, that’s “out growth” in the hair biz. I have some pretty white roots in places. I wasn’t happy with the cuts I was choosing. I was getting tired of spending major money on hair I wasn’t in love with.
First, I decided to color it myself. Second, I decided to let it grow out–it had a lot of growing out to do after the Rod Stewart shag I ended up with last time. By the time there was a third, I was in hair style panic. I looked rugged.
I swear I just went into the salon with Jim for his hair cut. We are such a wild couple–I’m not sure but it might have even qualified as a date. I was doing fine until I found the professional hair style books. Giant, over-sized books filled with glossy pictures of wild and sexy hair styles. I started petting a few. Then my fingers were saving places in the books. Then I was meshing books together to save the styles I was finding.
I tweeted my angst, trying to quell the stomach ache that was coming. By the time @MelissaMashburn threatened to tattle, I was physically nauseous. But not too nauseous…
Before I knew it, I had my name on the list for a hair cut. My former hair stylist completely forgotten as I got revved up by the style books’ promises of sexier, happier hair!
The shampoo was glorious. Honestly, isn’t that the best part of a hair cut? Having someone else massage our scalps with nice smelling, expensive hair tonics?! By the time I was in the chair, I was ready to turn it over to her completely: Do with me what you will. Luckily, I wasn’t so far gone and I put on the breaks.
We perused the pictures. We discussed my hair. Then she went to work.
As she blow dried and styled me, I smoked my imaginary cigarette and I watched intently. A potion for volume. Round brushes and blow dryers. A wax for definition.
When I left the salon, I was ready for a nap. But I was barely to the car before the guilt was back…what had I done?! I had a regular stylist! It was official…I had cheated. It wasn’t a harmless fantasy any longer.
How do you break up with a stylist?!