It all started last Thursday after lunch. A trek into the stormy afternoon through an economically depressed area to get to a beautiful spa tucked away on the second floor of a mini mall. And a haircut for DH and I. It seems to be a bad time for haircuts, just ask Laura.
First, Terry’s stylist (he’s only been to her a handful of times, so she’s still new-ish to him) decided to give him a different hair style without even asking. She cut it shorter than usual and, using a lot of product (which stylists seem to like to do), spiked his hair up everywhere. Now, don’t get me wrong, he still looks good. The man would look good with a bad rug; he’s just hunky like that, at least in my opinion. 😉
Then there’s my girl. Now, keep in mind that I haven’t had my hair cut in a good 6 months, maybe more. Terry and I used to have the same stylist but she disappeared and I haven’t had my hair done since then. So, I came in to whomever they decided to schedule me with. Apparently, she’s a newbie. *sigh* It would have been easier if my hair were still all one length, but I let my old stylist give me a new, lightly layered style over a year ago. Layers must be a difficult thing. Of course, I made the mistake of telling Terry on the ride over that my hair was long and easy to deal with, so it should be goof-proof. Wrong-o!
To make a long story short, I walked out of the salon with my hair still damp (she didn’t manage to get it completely dry?) into the storm and that’s when I noticed it. I hopped into the car, pulled down the mirror and took a look at this lump of curl I felt next to my face. She blew it out straight, kind-of, but here was this chunk of hair that’s shorter than anything else on my head (other than my bangs), like an inch wide and not blended into any of the surrounding hair. I figured that I just needed to go home and redry it myself. Still wrong! I almost wanted to cry. I’ve been pulling my hair up every day since. I even wore it curly because curls seem to hide a multitude of sins and yet it was still a problem. And the bangs aren’t even straight. That almost makes me laugh because I made a comment to her about cutting my own bangs between cuts but that I didn’t profess to know what I’m doing. Hah!
Add that to the fact that the two stylists huddled behind the counter whispering while we were being rung up afterwards and mine looks up as we’re leaving and says something to the effect of “Terry! Shorter! Cut it shorter!” Hello?!?! Do you not see the ring on my finger? Sheesh. Thanks for adding insult to injury by trying to flirt with my husband.
Needless to say, I will not be returning to that salon. And I half wish that Terry wouldn’t, either, but if he’s happy with the cuts he’s getting, I don’t want him to have to switch just because I had a bad experience. I know I’m probably overreacting to the whole thing, but women identify very strongly with their hair, so if it doesn’t look good, I don’t feel pretty.
Bottom line: You’re supposed to walk out of a salon feeling beautiful, with a coif that’s near impossible to attain by yourself. A regal princess. Not a hag. So, I broke down last night and called another salon to get it fixed. I’ll be going there over lunch today. Wish me luck!
