Detachment is good, right? Humility likewise? I hope so, my friends, because OH did I have a memorable hair salon experience tonight.
I went to a swanky place by Gladlyville standards, a nicer place than I've been in years. I thought, Maybe I hate getting my hair cut because I'm always going to cheapo places. I'll go somewhere a little more upscale and see if I get better results.
Excuse me while I pause to laugh grimly.
She offered me a five-minute treatment to get any product build-up out of my hair and I hesitated. "Is it going to be hard on my hair?" I asked her. "My hair's pretty fragile." She assured me it would not. It would make my hair feel awesome! I've been using this stuff that gives me great curl definition but does tend to get gummy. I said yes. ALAS ALAS ALAS.
This treatment, whatever it was, turned my hair into one massive tangle. I was sure she had put a clip in it because I could feel it all stuck together in back. There was no clip -- just the most unbelievable snarl you have ever seen. Before tonight my hair was about bra-strap length when un-boinged, and the whole pile of it was glued together.
She proceeded to comb it out. She spent, no exaggeration, more than half an hour trying to get a comb through my hair. She kept kicking aside wads of it that she'd yanked out. Eventually she pulled out enough hair for a whole flock of birds to line their nests, with enough left over for me to knit a pair of socks from it. (Hand-knit hair socks -- mortification for the third millennium). My scalp is SO tender.
She recommended that I come back soon. She offered to make me an appointment on the spot. I declined. The cut is fine, I think, but at this moment I look like Roseanne Roseannadanna. And you know, I can look like Roseanne Roseannadanna for free.
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