New look

I haven’t gotten my hair cut since January. I’ve been a little wary about the salon since I spent two days crying over bleach blonde hair after my last visit. My mom had an equally harrowing trip to the salon where the stylist insulted her intelligence and the shape of her neck before hacking off a chunk of hair from the back of her head and sending her home with a super short cut.

It is no wonder that we are both uneasy making appointments at the salon. That, of course, is why it took me eight months to get a trim. My mom ventured out first and found a stylist that she really liked. She got a great cut and left feeling confident. She made me an appointment with her new-found stylist.

I drove from Gainesville straight to the salon for my appointment. I wore an apple green polo shirt and a white skirt. I met Mom in the parking lot. She wore an apple green sweater and white pants. Yes, I showed up at my appointment as my mother’s twin.

The stylist started my shampoo and asked why I had drive all the way from Gainesville for a haircut. I told her that my mom had gotten a good haircut and suggested I come here too.

I think my stylist stopped listening after, “My mom got a good haircut.”

I gave her the full run-down of what I was looking for in my cut. Long layers. Final cut just brushing my shoulders. Long layers. I liked the cut I had last time, it just needed to be shaped up since it was getting long. Long layers.

I wasted my breath. I think that our matching apple green and white outfits were too much for the stylist to ignore, and she proceeded to give me my mother’s haircut. Mom was perched in the chair next to mine, acting as the perfect model.

I didn’t realize how much she was cutting until she started the final layer. The stylist finished up my butchering and left to check someone’s perm. I told Mom we had to leave before she dried my hair. I was scared I might cry when I saw how short it was. I pressed payment into the stylist’s hand and ran out of the door (my now even-more-twin-like mother following behind me).

At this point I should note that Mom has a nice haircut, just not a haircut that I wanted to get myself. I don’t think I’ve had hair this short since birth.

Mom and Katie were nice, telling me over and over again that it was cute. The cut wasn’t necessarily me, but it was cute. They were reassuring, but with the longest of my hair barely grazing the nape of my neck, I felt naked. Dad said that it makes me look young and hip.

I showed up at work on Monday to choruses of “It’s cute!” which is girl-language for “Wow, did you do that on purpose?” A guy at work told me that old women got short haircuts. Scott told me that it looked good…from the front. The people I worked with at Shands were more straightforward. One asked if I had stabbed the person who did this to me. Another asked if my haircut was intentional.

I’m still optimistic, even after what appears to be another hair mishap. The high points of the haircut:

1. This massacre has nearly removed all evidence of the hair color mishap from January.
2. I can wake up and be at work in 45 minutes.
3. A vigorous rub with a towel and a few toasty blasts from the hair dryer can dry my hair.
4. I will save fortunes in rubber bands since my hair can’t even imagine a ponytail at this length.

I’ll let you know how my next haircut goes. Ask me next September.