The Jon and Kate Plus 8 Haircut

13 Jun

Yesterday I got a haircut.  I was really looking forward to it, since my hair had grown out quite a bit since the last one and because I’d really loved my last cut.  Short and sassy and eye-catching.  Worth every penny of the $80 I spent on it.  And I have a big event today, my going-away party.  A gathering of all my dearest friends in the LA area, some of whom I haven’t seen in ages.

So I was excited.  Thrilled really, to be getting spruced up for my big party and thinking about introducing my friends to CityBoy, who was flying in expressly for the festivities.  I exchanged the usual pleasantries with my gal, told her how much I loved my last ‘do, and settled in for a good time.

Half-way through I should have realized I was in trouble.  She couldn’t quite remember how she’d done my hair the last time (which was somewhat understandable since she cuts hair very much “on the fly” and I hadn’t seen her in almost 2 months).  She said she’d figure it out.  Clue #1.  Then she mentioned a couple of ways she was going to change the cut from last time.  They didn’t seem major, so I shrugged and said okay.  I even told her, I trust you, it always comes out cute.  Clue #2.  But when she started showing me how to puff up the crown of my head, I knew it.  We had wildly divergent ideas of what my head should look like.

And yet, rather than say anything, I felt immobilized by my bad ‘do.  I kept thinking, this can’t be how she wants this to look, I’m sure she’s going to cut some more and make it magically like the last haircut.  But she didn’t.

And now I look like Kate, from Jon and Kate Plus 8.

WTF??  I mean, is there anything about me that says “suburban mom desperately trying to look cool and sexy”?  I hope not.

And then, to make matters worse, I got stuck in traffic on the way home.  Which gave me plenty of time to stew.  And nothing looks good in the tiny 3 inch frame of your rear view mirror.  So, angry and frustrated and annoyed by the tickle of hundreds of invisible post-haircut hairs, I broke out the scissors.  I know.  You’re saying to yourself, stop.  Stop.  STOP.  But I was pissed and sulking and convinced I could fix it with a few quick snips.

So I learned some very valuable lessons yesterday.  One:  do not get a haircut the day before a big event.  Two:  say something when your stylist is  f**king up your hair.  Three:  for the love of god, do not attempt to fix it yourself.  There’s a reason our mothers always took the scissors out of our hands when we were kids.

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