It started out innocently enough. For the past few weeks, I’ve been meaning to make a hair appointment, but as any mother knows, something like getting a haircut is a luxury that is often hard to come by. Friday morning I decided that I would just bite the bullet and take Logan and Camryn with me. So I called a new place, a place where several women from my church go, and I made an appointment for later that morning. Since all I wanted was a simple trim and for the front to not be so much longer than the back, I just figured I didn’t need to be picky about who did it. Raphael was the winner since he had appointments open at 10:30, 11:00, 11:30, 1:00, 1:30…hmmm…maybe that should have been a red flag…
My lovely children and I arrive promptly, and I tell Raphael what I would like. After my hair is washed, Raph starts cutting. He starts at the back, and I settle down in my chair, smiling at my good fortune. A spontaneous, same day appointment, and children who are behaving good as gold? It’s too good to be true!
Raphael move around to the side of my hair and I start to get the feeling that something isn’t quite right. Instead of pulling my hair up and cutting it in sections from the top, he pulls all of my hair flat against my neck and trims the bottom. And he does it again…and again…and again…moves around to the other side and continues to cut only the bottom of my hair. At this point I figure he’s just getting started and the shaping will come next. Nope, not so much. He goes all the way around my head, bluntly cuts a few whispy bangs, and hands me my bill. I’m a little bewildered at his technique, but I decide to wait until I get home to pass judgement.
I get home, dry it, and flat iron it. You know you’ve gotten a bad haircut when you have to pull out your own shears to cut the hairs that are 2 inches longer than all the rest. My hair looked like a square mushroom. I don’t know how to describe it except that it was uneven, blunt, and I am absolutely certain that Derek could have done my hair as well as Raphael did. I tried to get a picture of it, but it really doesn’t do it justice. Maybe you can tell how uneven and unshaped the ends are, and it certainly lacks that “I just got a professional haircut” oomph.
So I did something I’ve never done before. I called the salon back and asked for a do-over. “Sure dear,” the receptionist said. “When you come back, just tell Raphael exactly what you want and he’ll do it for you.” Uh, thanks, but no thanks. The problem is I DID tell him what I want, and he didn’t seem to understand the need for cutting my hair in sections, or even cutting all my hair for that matter.
So I filed the whole Raphael experience away in the “lesson learned” category and called another place. It’s got a good reputation, and even though it would be another new person, it really couldn’t be worse. Plus I couldn’t even get an appointment until late Saturday afternoon, which is a step up from Raphael.
At hair appointment number 2, Peggy informs me that in order to really get the mess cleaned up, she may have to take a little length off. Okay, I’m fine with that. Just make me cute again. She cuts and cuts and cuts some more. I’m thinking it’s awfully short, but again, I’ll wait until it’s all said and done to pass judgement. She drys and flat irons and sprays and fluffs and spins my chair around to reveal this:
Don’t let that big smile fool you. I was freaking out on the inside. I do think I’m going to like it, and it’s only hair…it will grow…but I was just not prepared for such a drastic change. It’s a good thing that today was Sunday, so I got up and fixed it for church. All the sweet ladies made me feel better about it.
So that, my friends, is the story of how I accidentally cut my hair off. Derek will argue that it was not an accident, and maybe it wasn’t in the truest sense of the word. Whatever. It’s an accident in my book.