The Emotional Task of Hairdressing

I liken getting my hair cut to skydiving.

First there is the excitement.
I picture myself walking out with gorgeous, shimmering, bouncy locks and everywhere I walk flowers open at my feet.

Then as the time of my appointment nears, terror starts to set in.
What if they accidentally cut a huge chunk out of my hair and then to even it out they cut chunks out of the rest? What if its so bad they end up shaving my head?! They could very easily cut too much!
What if, God forbid, they cut too little?!! And I am left with a huge bill and no difference!! What if it is TOO bouncy?!


I am working myself into a sweat. Lets move on.



Now my usual salon isn't great. Its not bad, but every time I go there I go home saying I'll never go there again, I'll find someone new and fantastic. And then I book another appointment.



Last night the most horrible thing happened. I caught my hairdresser being unfaithful.

RIGHT IN FRONT OF MY EYES.

She didn't even try to hide it, I mean, she looked right into my eyes and continued to cut someone else's hair.

ON MY TIME.

I don't understand it - we'd never so much as had a disagreement in all the 35 minutes I had known her. I admit I wasn't overly chatty, but I was TIRED! I suppose I noticed that she washed my hair in silence, but then she massaged my head so passionately that I assumed we were exclusive.
Next thing I know, I am in a chair with my hair twisted all over my head, staring into the mirror as I watched everything unfold behind me.
She was with another woman. She had deserted me.

I must have looked quite forlorn as one of the floor sweepers brought me a large glass of (fabulous) red and some peanuts to drown my sorrows. I spent the next half hour drinking, trying to piece together what had gone so wrong in our relationship.

Soon I noticed that I couldn't feel my cheeks* (a great tool in determining your level of soberness, or lack thereof, which I learnt from my brother). She hadn't seen the error of her ways and come crawling back, and I was offered another glass. I pinched my cheeks again to double check and politely declined. I didn't want her to see me like that and surely she'd come back to me soon.

She didn't. Worse. I had been palmed off to someone else. Someone I hadn't met. Someone who'd never massaged my head the way she used to**.
This person had not been there for my pre-haircut interview. She had not listened to my whining about wanting to grow my hair, but not being able to change my GHD*** obsessive ways. She did not put efforts into seducing me into having my hair cut by her - she just went straight for the scissors.

I sat there. Petrified.

It took 43 minutes until it was over... Until I dared look in the mirror.

She had taken off my cape but she had forgotten something! Where was the final product that is always lovingly applied to a finished hairdo one can be proud of?? WHERE WAS MY MIRROR TO LOOK AT THE BACK?!?!

She just smiled and said "Done"!

What do you mean DONE?!

Are you seeing what I am seeing??! FRIZZ?? Its RAINING outside!! I have a long journey ahead of me and you are sending me away with PRE-RAIN FRIZZ?!??

I couldn't speak. I couldn't argue. Well, I never argue with hairdressers anyway because they have scissors and access to my hair, but I wanted to!

I paid the exorbitant amount and left. I am NEVER going there again. NEVER. This time I am sticking to it.


Although, I really did think that red was fabulous...






* Yes - after one glass. I don't drink often, so shoot me.

** By "used to" I am of course referring to the one time.

*** If I have to explain GHD to you, you need help.