After two weeks of being annoyed and wearing my hair in a pony tail, I gave in and got a haircut.
I don’t like getting my hair cut. I don’t like dealing with hair at all, so I let it grow until it becomes unwieldy and unflattering and annoys the crap out of me. Only then do I book an appointment with the expensive hairdresser — I’ve been to several cheap ones, and at best they give me a haircut that does not actively annoy me. The expensive ones can give me a cut that almost makes this whole hair business seem worth it.
I don’t like being at the salon. Keeping my attitude towards hair in mind, it’s hard for me to find a common topic of conversation with someone who loves hair so much they became a ladies’ hairdresser. Sometimes it even gets me in trouble: One hairdresser threatened to shave my head because I mentioned I didn’t use conditioner. The same person also told me I needed to smile more through the whole ninety minutes it took them to give me a terrible cut. I probably don’t need to mention this was one of the cheap hairdressers I’ve since stopped going to.
Today was thankfully quite pleasant, and even a little amusing.
I told my hairdresser I don’t blowdry my hair, and that my only real styling implement is a hair brush. They responded by wincing and giving me a blowdry that would make a Wella model envious. Incidentally, the style of choice involved having a curtain of hair over my good eye, so for the last half of the styling process all I could see was fuzzy blobs.
Who needs sight when you can be fabulous!