Hair Puffs & Poofs

My two beautiful daughters had been encouraging me for years to try a new hair stylist for fun, for something new and to experience the head massage with the haircut phenomenon. This is the big year of stretching way out there and so, I made the appointment after reaching the point that you are sick-to-death-don't-let-me-near-razors-scissors-yard-clippers-hair.

Annika, my daughter, wanted to join in the fun and made the appointments at the same time in her favorite salon. The anticipation of a new look, new style, new me was building and I secretly hoped that our chairs would be next to each other as our hair got snipped, artistically crafted and spritzed into place.

Arriving early, we slipped on the satiny robes (the color looked good on us!); were handed some hot herbal tea and sank into the salon cushion chairs, ready to be remade into vivacious, gorgeous women. Annika had already coached me to what I needed to say:

"You can cut my hair anyway you desire. You have total artistic freedom with my hair."

I did my job and then watched the stylist do hers. As she made little snips here and there, I thought she might need some encouragement, and so I gave her helpful insight into my personality.

"I love fun and sassy hair."

"I love short and bouncy hair."

"I love cuts that make my fine hair look not so wimpy."

None of this was apparently getting through because at the end of the haircut, I had little puffs and poofs of hair on the top of my head and the bangs were slicked down on the side.  She had trimmed a little bit off the end of the hair and blowed dried it all straight. Inside I was screaming,

"&*%$, she gave me an old lady haircut. What the *&^%! I look like those old Armenian ladies from Fresno that I see in Pottery Barn all the time."

Outside I say,

"Could you please trim my bangs? I don't usually blow dry them straight and I really need my bangs trimmed."  

Off goes a little of the bangs by the stylist and I am once again staring into the mirror and feeling very, very ugly. I look like a hag and feel like a hag. I glance over to my daughter who is getting a kick-butt cute haircut. Her hair is bouncing, happy and sassy. She is glowing from the all the cuteness that is shimmering out of her pores! She looks amazing! It makes me want to slump down in my salon chair even more and get the heck out of that place.

To add to my dismay, she even shellacs my puffs, poofs into place and tells me that I am all done. I am done with this place.

Ripping out of the satiny robe, I try one more time to look at my hair in the bathroom, heave a huge sigh and realize there is no escaping my butt-ugly hair style. Walking over to Annika, I watch her being finished up....her stylist whisks off her extra cape, walks Annika over to their makeup display and using a big makeup brush, dusts off the last wispy hairs off her neck. She then uses two different shades of lipstick and  applies luscious color to her lips as the finishing touch! I hope I remembered to close my wide open gaping mouth of shock.

Feeling numb, I pay for my haircut and even tip her! I feel sick inside and turn down Annika's offer to do something fun. The only fun I want is to hide out at home. Luckily Annika's chatter is distracting to the depression I feel about my hair until we get home and then we both critique my hair, especially after my son sees it and says,

"What happened?"

I keep it together for awhile, let Annika try to "fix it" by putting bobby pins in it, spit and after turning her head in a 90 degree angle "proclaiming it better" attempt; I finally put my head under the spigot and wash the disaster away. Feeling a little bit better and younger, I compliment Annika on her sassy and chic haircut. Only when she has gone, do I cry. A wave of disappointment crashes over me and a sweet sister in law and family help me to smile and laugh again...later.

After all, I don't have purple or cheetah spotted hair. It was not sheared off and clumps were not removed. I just still need a haircut. A stylish, chic, sassy, vivacious, fun hair style. Is it possible? I don't know but I am trying again this afternoon!

What the heck....life is for the dangerous living!