Waiting for a Good Haircut

Snips of hair slipped down the black cape across my lap before landing on the salon floor. When the stylist was done, she added root booster to my scalp, and then dried my hair, styling it with her fingers. She sprinkled a powder on my head that she said would make my hair feel like the second day after it's been washed. I guess that was supposed to be a plus, but I've always liked the feeling of my hair right after it's been washed.  

I don't want to even admit to you that I was at a local store of a national haircutting chain, but that's exactly where I was. You know; $9.99 for a haircut. 

In my defense, several months ago, I had noticed a young woman's darling hairstyle, and asked to whom she went. With her referral, I called to see when this woman would be working. As it happens, her schedule is limited to a few days, and the receptionist said people call ahead to find out when she is there, and they wait in line to be seen by her. So, I went to her with high expectations. 

When she spun my chair around to let me look in the mirror, I just stared. Admittedly, it wasn't styled because at these discount haircutting places, they offer haircuts, no extras like styling. My hair had been dried, and that was about it. 

"So, what do you think?" she asked me. I would be a horrible gambler. My lack of a poker face would destroy any chances I had of winning. I know she saw my face fall.

My hair was thinner, and my long bangs were slightly flipped away from my jawline. My hair seemed flat and limp; not exactly what I was hoping for that day.

I couldn't tell her what I thought, so I told her I should be able to make it work. I told her I was glad she had cut it, and I thought I would be able to style it easier now that she had thinned it out. I thanked her before I gathered my jacket and purse. Holding my jaw tight, I went to find Chuck, who had just had his hair cut, too.

At least someone got a good haircut on their first try.

My husband greeted me in the waiting area with a smile. I probably looked a little wild-eyed, but my sweet Beart told me I looked nice. New haircuts take some time to come out of that freshly cut, shocked look, so I was hopeful I could make my hair cooperate after I washed it.

We were expecting a crowd at our house for the evening for a family dinner, and we would be taking lots of pictures. There was still plenty to be done when we got home; washing my hair would have to wait. 

By the time I got soup in the crockpot, and we straightened the house, I figured I'd better hustle if I wanted to do something with my hair. 

"People will be here in 10 minutes," Chuck reminded me. Ugh. I would have to live with my grungy feeling hair for the rest of the night. I gave my tresses a few quick pulls through the hot iron, and called it good enough. 

Bad hair days are in the mirror of the beholder.

This morning when I got up, I finally was able to wash all of the styling gunk out of my hair. With my back to the bathroom mirror, I looked into my handheld mirror to see the back of my head, and I was horrified to see there was a big chunk of hair missing from behind my ear. Someone went a little crazy with the thinning razor yesterday, I guess.

Sigh. 

Complaining isn't going to get me anywhere. The stylist can't exactly put the hair back, can she? And if you're thinking it's not so bad; my ear probably hides the bald spot, you would be wrong.

They say the difference between a good haircut and a bad one is about seven days. Day one down; six to go. It's going to be a long week.

The waiting begins...