The Good, Bad and Ugly (Hair)

I do not think my hairdresser likes me. Actually that is not true. I think she is indifferent to me. This and the fact that she cannot style my hair stresses me out (however the cut is great after a couple of weeks). I cannot get past it - I HATE getting my haircut.

The thing is, I have to have good hair - it is a sickness. I would rather practice yoga naked on national TV with good hair than fully clothed with bad. My hair (for better or worse) can control my mood. Just last week I had to endure the trauma. I become incredibly tense before I go and then remain in that state until I can come home and inspect then wash my hair.

As I wait in the reception area, I silently practice my clear instructions (I like my bangs below my eyebrows. I like a blunt cut. I like the longer pieces in front.). Additionally I transform myself into a quiet, reserved non conversational type person (this is my superpower) so I do not have to talk to someone who does not even want to talk to me. Seriously. She asks me questions, but by the time I answer, she has already moved on. You can tell because she is actually looking somewhere else when I speak and then I get the fake/forced laugh when I have not even said anything funny.

I used to really like getting my hair cut. It was girl time - even when I was with my former hairdresser Robert (see Trader Joes) - she was so much fun. I always left feeling pretty and happy with all the hysterical conversation. (Note: I switched hairdressers because I needed a change. I went through several hairdressers before I found my current stylist - I would also like to note that they were/are all female out of respect to Robert. If I was going to cheat on him, it could not be with another man).

My visit last week met my expectations (which were incredibly low). I thought maybe if I arrive with good hair, she could see what it should look like. For the record, I hot roll my hair every day and use a hair thickener product for increased volume. Hell, I use a volume shampoo. I like lift, volume and a style (and no - my hair does not look like a meringue). I soon would realize this was all for nothing.

I went through my instructions - and I have to say I am quite nice when I do this. It is an art form to appear pleasant and likeable when telling someone what to do). I then become mute and hope for the best. The cut is done and she begins to blow dry. She is reaching for products called smoothing serum and hair straightener. Ugh! She is pulling my hair down as she dries it to get that extra flat look. I could not be uglier. But hey, I can always wash my hair - she is just wasting product and her time (I never book a haircut before I have to do anything - it is always right before I go home to bed). Then I realize that my bangs are hovering above my eyebrows. Perfect. I look like an asshole.

In 2 or 3 weeks I will be happy. Until then my perfect husband knows not to even mention the word hair around me - and even then, he does not. Now if I did not already sound like a crazy lady, here is the proof: I have made my next haircut appointment with the same hairdresser. Safe to say, I am not looking forward to it.