Friday, March 09, 2007
I have always had lots of hair on my head. Believe me, this has been comforting as I age. It may have turned silver and gray, but it is there.
I had very long hair as a teen ager. It was the style in the 70s. It drifted dangerously close to being a mullet in the 80s and then a god awful Steven Seagal ponytail in the 90s. Now it is just short.
Up until about six months ago, I was able to get a good haircut from the same stylist at the same salon for years. I didn't have to tell her how to cut it. She knew. And she'd descretely trim my eyebrows and the occasional stray hair on the ears without being asked or even acknowledging it. We could also discuss trash television without guilt. I went seven years without having to worry about my hair. Then my stylist got pregnant.
My head has been in chaos since. I have been thrown to the mercy of junior stylists with names like China, Sunni and Brandi. They begin every session with, "What are we going to do today" and seemed puzzled when I suggest, "cut my hair?" And so far I have walked away each time with my hair looking like a gardner has gone amuck with a hedge trimmer.
That pony tail is starting to sound like a good idea again.