Since my husband and I are buying a house, we are attempting to save money. I’m improving, although saving money goes against my natural ability to spend money (I’m really good at it, too…). So, I needed a haircut. I needed a haircut badly. I have ultra-thick hair that’s half-curly and incredibly unruly. If it gets below shoulder-length, it will take over 30 minutes to fully dry with a blow dryer. My hair is so thick that I had to cut OFF four inches just to make it manageable enough to hold an updo for my wedding. Otherwise, my hair would have collapsed from it’s own weight.
And of course, for some reason, it’s been growing at the speed of light. When I want long hair, it grows slower than the pro-gay marriage bill is gonna pass through an all-Republican Congress. But when I want it to stay short, it grows fast enough to get unruly overnight.
Back to the money-saving issue. I decided to forgo my usual fifty-dollar haircut with the Russian woman I like and just go to Best Cuts. I’ve had a good haircut there once before, so I decided to take my chance with $15.99 instead of $62 (including tip). I was a bit nervous going in because well, I’m kind of protective of my hair. When it’s all long and straight and shiny and pretty, it’s one of my best features.
I went in and was immediately ignored. I should’ve taken that as a sign and walked out to go to the Russian woman (whom I can usually walk in for - she’s right around the corner from my apartment). Instead, I waited patiently. Finally, someone asked if I needed a cut, I said yes, gave him my name, then proceeded to look through a book to show him the cut I wanted. I’ve gotten this cut before - it’s a short bob with longer layers that I can flip out using my straightener. It’s a pretty cute cut, and I like it. It’s also not a difficult cut, according to my long-time stylist in VA (whom I don’t go to anymore because, well, he’s in VA and I’m in hell, I mean, Ohio).
I showed it to the guy, he said no problem. Take the usual steps, wash the hair, etc. He combs it out and starts cutting. First he cuts off the length - prbably six inches or so. Then the fun begins. He starts layering and texturizing.
I should have counted how long he layered compared to how long it took to cut off the length. Ever feel like life goes in slow motion? That’s how I felt when he kept taking the scissors to my hair to ‘texturize’ it.
Dude, you weren’t ‘texturizing’ my hair. You were having an affair with the scissors, and silly me, I thought you were ‘just going out for a drink, I swear!’. I hope you enjoyed your self-given blow job.
Then he pulls ‘pomade’ through my hair. I HATE this shit, but didn’t realize that’s what he put in there until he was done and TOLD me what it was. I don’t use shit in my hair - no hairspray, nothing. All it does is make my hair crackly.
So then I paid and left. I did like the look of the hair when I left - it seemed a little short and too-layered, but it looked cute and it made me look a little older (I’m a 30 year old who tends to look like a 21 year old).
I should’ve guessed it sucked when I walked in the door and my husband said “Oh…your hair…I…like it.”.
I woke up this morning, and now I’m horrified. I look like a curlier Carol Brady. I hope to God when I wash and style it, I’m able to make some semblance of a flippy bob, or else I am screwed.
And this fast-growing hair I have now? Twenty bucks says it slows down to growing at the pace of ants crawling because I’ll WANT it to grow out faster.
I want my hair back. NOW, dammit. I’ll suffer with drying it for 30 minutes if I have to, but I don’t want to feel like I should walk into my house calling “Greg? Marcia? Bobby and Cindy? Where are Jan and Peter and Alice?”.
E.
