February
29
Tags
Salon Talk
I’m one of those people who don’t like going to get their hair done. Maybe it’s years of being the daughter of a hairstylist, I’m used to my mom cutting my hair and being done with it.* This expediency has spoiled me, for to go to a salon is akin to using an epilady on my lady parts.
Salons are just too much for me – with the styling, the consultation, the shaping…the CONVERSATION. My, do I do terribly at the conversation. I don’t like being poked, prodded, or primped. I certainly hate all of those things more, when having to make small talk. Needless to say, I’m a terrible salon customer, so these instances are very few and far between. How should such a salon-phobe avoid these situations?
Lesson 1: Do not cut your own hair, especially while in a Nyquil-induced haze.
Lesson 2: If cutting your own hair, do not use scissors made by Crayola.
Lesson 3: Write this blog post 2 days ago.
Why two days ago? Because 1 day ago is when I butchered my own head. Well, there was no blood, and it didn’t look so bad…until I removed the scarf I had wrapped around my neck to disguise the lopsided ends that looked like rats had gnawed on them. 6 hours ago is when I got myself to a salon after work, to undo the ‘do.
The stylist was fine, and she didn’t push the conversation. But the problem was me. I explained I wanted to fix the job I’d done, but didn’t insist on or clarify how short I was willing to go. Which was, basically, not as short as she thought would work for my round head and super thick hair. I take full responsibility for this, and must live with the consequences.
It isn’t a bad haircut. She did a good job. But I should be comfortable with asking for what I want. I mean, please, it’s not like she was my mother!
Hard to tell, but it’s a cross between Linda Ronstadt and Velma from Scooby-Do.
More fun than this self-inflicted semi-torturous experience, was the lively conversation I was treated to:
Customer: “Oh, my god! This year, I’m going to be celebrating the 10th anniversary of my bat mitzvah!”
Stylist: “Wow, you’re getting so old! You know, next year, I’m going to be throwing my dog his bar mitzvah. It’s going to be so expensive!”
Customer: “I know, right? When my dog turns 1, I’m going to throw her, like, the biggest quinceañera. Totally.”
Did I mention this salon was in Brooklyn?
*While my mother has always done a great job, I’ve not always been appreciative. Especially when she cuts my hair the way she thinks looks best on me. We don’t always agree. She thinks this look is good for me. I think she might be drunk.
The Smell of My Own Poop 
You need hair you don’t have to do a lot to. This haircut is work.
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Right?!? And it’s cut in such a way hugs my face. I feel like one of those Lego people where a hair helmet just clips on.
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