Bad Hair Day

It happens once, maybe twice in a lifetime, if you’re lucky. You find that certain someone who knows you better than you know yourself. The one person in a million who truly listens and hears you completely. That one special individual who is everything that you ever wanted and more. And just like that, it can all be swept away.

Kim, my hairdresser has moved away. Evidently, her stupid husband got some dream job in Washington D.C. and she decided to go with him. I know, I know, I had three perfect years of great haircuts and fabulous highlights and not everyone can say that. But, I am now left adrift, hairdresser-less. And during what is probably the windiest summer on record for Wichita Falls.

Do you know that you have a greater chance of being killed by a terrorist that finding a competent hairdresser? Okay, I lifted that line from Sleepless in Seattle and I think it applies to finding true love, but whatever, same difference. The sentiment remains true and I can back it up.

I went to my hair salon today for a simple trim of my bangs. A simple enough job- or so you would think. They gave me some squeaky voiced child who had bedazzled every single piece of equipment she owned including her beautician’s license. She proceeded to butcher my bangs until they were unrecognizable as a natural extension of my head. When she was done and I had an opportunity to survey the wreckage, I realized that I had seen myself with this haircut once before. When I was four- and had to cut chunks of hair off after I had fallen asleep with gum in my mouth. I look like a cross of Ramona Quimby and a mange infested dog.

Blessedly, most of the office was gone by early afternoon and I did not have to face anybody with my stumpy, weird, so-not-blended (I specifically said blend them into the rest of my hair) bangs. I think I can manage the weekend with a pair of strategically placed sunglasses on top of my head, but after that, I just don’t know.

I guess it’s better to have had a great hairdresser and lost her ………