Nightmare Hair Story! (Everyone Has One!)

Dedicated to my sister, Joan, who is braver than I am!
Congrats on your new "do"!


I turn away when I have to walk past hair salons. My hands shake as I pick up the phone and dial the number to book my annual appointment. There is a definite quaking in my entire body as I reluctantly open the door upon my arrival on the dreaded date. My voice cracks as I report to the receptionist that I have indeed shown up this time in hope that the outcome just might be better than the previous visits.


I wistfully leaf through the pages of glamourous hair magazines. Is it possible that someone in this shop could get me to look like that girl? My spirits lift slightly as I watch and admire my stylist’s last client at the counter, a gorgeous redhead, who pays and generously tips for today’s creation.


When my name is called, I rise, nervously clutch my purse and warily follow the girl to the chair at the sink. Then, predictably, comes the age-old question, "So what would you like me to do with your hair today?" (As if she could do anything!) It is all I can do to bite off the response, "Well, not much really, a simple cut like Cindy Crawford’s would be fine!"

Instead, I make my usual reply, "I’m not really sure. Think of my hair as the challenge of your career."

She lightly fingers my hair, drops it abruptly, and remarks disdainfully, "I see what you mean. There’s really not much we can do with such thin, straight hair but I could try a perm."

"Oh no!" I think. "Now there’s a loaded word!" The mere mention of the word "perm" dredges up painful, terrifying memories that stem from early childhood. It brings back tears and fears of frizzy days gone by. Recollections of being called "Harpo" by the boys in my class flood my mind. I remember with horror, the many repeated visits to the hairdresser’s to ensure my perm took the second time.

I should demonstrate my assertiveness training and state emphatically, "No! A simple blunt cut is all I want!" I could throw all caution to the wind and let, yet another hair stylist have free rein with my locks. In the end, I wimp out. (I didn’t actually go to all those classes!) My power of positive thinking weakly struggles to the surface to state once again, that it will turn out all right this time.


Hesitantly, I concede to a perm and choke out the understatement, "Well, okay but I must warn you that I’ve had a bit of trouble with them in the past." (A bit? If only she knew!)
"No problem." she replies. "We have a new one that’ll work great." I groan inside. Shades of the computer perms that did not compute or got a virus and died a sudden death at the hands of some very sharp scissors!


Patiently, I sit through the familiar stages of the "salonized perm" and silently worry if it will be too curly or not curly enough. I sneak a look at the new me and think, "Not bad! It definitely took!" And then, as always, I wonder how I will ever be able to employ the tricks she has just shown me to re-create the same effect? That is the crux of the matter. You can look fabulous when you leave the salon, having just over-tipped them in your excitement. But what about when you are left to your own skill to attempt it yourself?


And true to form, only three days later, I stand helplessly before the mirror and am tearfully thrown back in time to one horrific poodle cut! "I can’t believe this! It’s happened again!" I complain to my husband. "When I waltzed out of that place everyone said that I could have been on the cover of a magazine!"


My husband mutters and thinks that I can’t hear, "Yeah, what they didn’t tell her was that they meant, "Dog Digest Magazine"! I take another look and sadly resign myself to the fact that I do bear an uncanny resemblance to the family canine.


For the time being, I decide to enter the "Pet and Owner Look-alike Contest". It will only take seven months for my perm to grow out, almost in time for my next hair appointment!


Mother of Invention, kinda glad my hair is long again!