Hair Despair

I couldn't bring myself to talk about it until now. Even just last week, I'd cry at the sight of scissors and bawl over the blow dryer.

After years of searching, I'd finally found the hair stylist of my dreams. Then last month, she and her deft razor-wielding hands just up and left for Florida. They just left!! Can you believe it? My hair already had some serious abandonment issues BEFORE she left. I mean what red hair doesn't, right?

But now? Let's just say it's going to take some serious product and a lot more texturizing before my red auburn mane recovers from this one.

Now that she's gone, I find myself replaying the lovely conversations we had while shouting over the blow dryer. I analyze every word, wondering what I ever did to make her leave.

I remember she asked, "So you prefer to go with a more whimsical look?"
But in hindsight, she probably meant: "You never style your hair, do you? You'd be lucky to brush it, let alone blow it out, am I right?"

And then there was the time she told me, "You've got some good length. You could easily take off about two inches, and you might benefit from a deep moisture treatment."
But I know now she was trying to say, "Seriously, do you not see that your ends split up in 1992, and there's no hope of them getting back together?"

I should have known better. I've been left at the salon chair more times than I care to count. Why did I let myself get so attached? Why did I lay all my locks on the table like a fool? Perhaps it was my needy, clingy cowlicks that scared her off.

Whatever the case, it seems I'll be sporting the "whimsical" look for many months to come.

It's Friday, and while I've decided this post is not even remotely funny, we're going to pretend it is and link it up to Amber's Friday Funnies. And just so you know, I spared you of about a dozen awful hair-related puns. You're welcome.

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