The Good, the Bad and the Ugly Hair Day

The Redhead Gets A Haircut
Originally uploaded by Jeremy Brooks

In preparation for my new job I thought I would get a haircut.   Not a big one, but something a little shorter, a little more professional and something a little easier to do in the morning as I get myself ready for work and dress and feed my daughter before school.

I have been growing my hair long for almost four years.  Until the other day my hair was the longest it had ever been.  It was well below my shoulders and I had a good cut with long layers that played well to my curly/wavy hair.  I could wear it up or down. It curled beautifully as it air dried and was smooth as silk when dried straight.

Not anymore.

I went to a new stylist.  I couldn't go to my old stylist because my Hair-guru, Rick, is in Rome.   The stylist I used when I was living in the US before has gone MIA.   I tried going to the women who run the salon in the basement of my apartment building.  They have done a good job waxing my eyebrows, maybe they could do something with the hair on my head.   When I tried to make an appointment their salon was empty and I found them in the back room waxing each other's armpits.  When I asked if I could make an appointment they asked me to come back later.   Come back later to make an appointment so I could come back a third time to actually get my hair done?  I didn't go back.

My new stylist or "The Butcher", as I like to refer to her now, listened to my likes and my concerns and my requests and proceeded to ignore every last one.   The butcher who cut my hair announced she would "texturize" it.   Texturizing I have discovered meant stripping my hair with scissors in such a way that my hair is wild and frizzy as if I walk around with my finger in an electrical socket.

I must not forget to mention the new color of my hair.  Actually it's not one color.  It's a dark red with almost blackish streaks and a subtle purple hue.   Classy.   I was going for copper or auburn. Not this time.

As soon as I got home I washed my hair.  I washed it three times in two days.  The good news is that after every washing my white towel was streaked with red.  The bad news is that my hair feels like steel wool.   I tried to deep condition it.   I tried a hot oil treatment.   I have tumbleweed sitting on my head.  (Click here for sound effect -- Do it, I swear it's priceless.)

If my despair over my hair wasn't enough, my darling husband chimed in with the following helpful conversation:

Him: "Why did you do this? Your hair looked fine the way it was."
Me: "That's not helpful."
Him: "Well, it's all uneven everywhere."
Me: "It's called LAYERS!!!!"
Him: "Well, you're going to be totally fucked when we're in Senegal and you have to explain to a stylist what you want done to your hair -- IN FRENCH!"
Me: (Silence followed by laughter because I know my hair is going to be fucked when we get to Senegal.)

I will end this blog entry with a quote from my sage and wonderful daughter.  Abigail found me crying over my hair the other night.  She said that she gets sad when I am sad.  I explained that I was sad about my hair, just like when she was sad when a classmate said she looked like a boy after her last awful haircut.

Abigail: "I love you and I think you look beautiful and your hair looks good."
Me: "Are you being nice or are you being honest?"
Abigail: "I am being nice. (pause) What's honest mean?"