If you were to ask me what my natural hair color is, I would have to tell you in all honesty that I have no clue.
In other words, there is nothing natural about my hair color.
I started having my hair highlighted somewhere way back in the early 80’s, after a particularly atrocious hair cut.
Like the highlights would disguise the fact that my hair looked like someone placed a bowl on my head, spun me around in the chair, closed their eyes, and cut at random.
My money would have been better spent purchasing a sombrero.
And because I’m never one to rock the boat, I paid for it. And even added the requisite tip.
The highlighting continued (at a different salon), because once you highlight your hair, you are really powerless to stop on your own. It becomes an addiction. Something about the aluminum foil and all that bleach.
And how attractive you look sitting there under the hair dryer, while picking up all manor of radio frequencies.
I visited a salon about every 8 weeks from the early 80’s until after I gave birth to Emme. Which was 9 years ago. Do the math. And then tell me how much I’ve spent on my hair in the last 20 years.
While I cry.
Then when I became a mother of two, trips to the beauty parlor came to an abrupt end.
Along with my sanity.
I no longer could justify the time or expense. This is when Loreal became my friend.
Because Loreal covers the gray, my friends. And the addition of the third child brought out a whole lot of gray. And happily, the box of Loreal comes with a highlighting kit. Which is easy enough for even me to use.
So, when anyone now asks me where I get my hair done, I tell them “my bathroom.”
I’m just never certain whether the question means, “Wow, your hair looks terrific!” Or “mental note: never get your hair done there.
The only stumbling block now, is the haircut. And yes, I’ve tried doing it myself.
But that just never ends well.
On a whim this last summer, I went to The Hair Cuttery, right next to the grocery store. I figured that it is a blunt cut, how hard can that be. And the price was right.
I loved it. And it only took 15 minutes.
It takes me that long to decide, “one column of Oreos, or two?”
Fast forward to Friday, when I blissfully had two unexpected hours to myself. Thanks to my sweet SIL and partner in crime, Trish.
I thought I’d just swing by for a quick trim. Since it had been 14 years.
Not really, just looked like it.
My regular gal wasn’t working, so I took a chance on someone new. I knew instinctively within 3 minutes that she had no idea what she was doing. Yet, I lacked the courage to get up, uncape, and run like the wind.
I noticed the manager of the joint walk by behind me. I could see her face in the mirror. As she walked past, she looked right at the back of my head as Morticia (not real name) was cutting. I saw her furrow her brow and give a look like, “what the……”
Again. Stand. Run.
But, I didn’t. I sat there and endured the torture of this haircut for ONE HOUR. And during that time, she admitted that she just started on Tuesday.
She told me that she came from another salon. But I suspect that salon had nothing to do with the cutting of hair.
At the hour mark, she told me that she could blow dry it. “How long will that take?”
“Another 15 to 20 minutes.”
No thanks. Check please.
I paid, and yes, left a small tip.
It was hard to tell how bad it was whilst wet and unstyled. When I arrived at home, I noted that it was indeed bad. Yes. Very bad, indeed.
Awesome. And what luck. Just in time for the annual Fiddle Christmas portrait.
I’ll be the one in the sombrero.