Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Dew the 'Do
Any time a woman gets a haircut and does not hate it or cry over it should be considered a successful haircut. Therefore, I am happy, even thought it doesn't look exactly like the pic. It has now been more than 36 hours, and I'm still happy. So here is the new 'do. I have officially waxed both my car and my hair now. I still haven't gotten quite the hang of it, though.
The girl who styled me put some wax in her palms, rubbed them together and then started clapping loudly and vigorously over the top of my head in a circular motion. For a second, I thought she was just really happy that the style had turned out nicely or that she was casting a spell on me.
I jumped to one side of the seat and looked up at her. She laughed and said, "See how it's falling off my hands and onto your hair? That's what you want it to do." It fell like cobwebs. Weird. Then she also began working it into the ends of my hair.
So I left and bought some Paul Mitchell stuff for the first time (Coconut! Why didn't someone tell me Paul Mitchell smells like coconut?!) and waxed my hair this morning before work. I tried to do that clapping thing over myself, but I looked like either a very awkward I Dream of Jeannie with my elbows all out to the sides or a flying squirrel with flaps, so I gave that up.
Even more surreal than the Voodoo Clap was a conversation I had with my stylist when I first came in the salon. Remember I told you that it had been three years since I had had anything more than a small trim? Well, I was expecting, when I went yesterday, to see the girl who last cut my hair. In my memory, she was tall, thin, and dark brunette. My mental image was nowhere near similar to this girl, so we were both trying to figure out who it was I thought I remembered. The weird conversation went like this:
Stylist: "Was she tall?"
Me: "Yes, pretty tall."
Her: "Hmmm. Was her name Julie?"
Me: "No, I thought her name was Dana."
Her: "Nope, that's me."
Me: "I know. I don't know how I got confused, but it's no big deal."
Her: "Wait a minute--did she have some pink in her hair?"
Me: "I don't know. Maybe."
Her: "Did she have teeth?"
Me: "Excuse me?"
Her: "Teeth. Did she have teeth?"
Me: "You mean, in her mouth?"
Me: "Yes, I'm sure my stylist had teeth. I would notice if she didn't."
Her: "Well, Julie had dentures, but she just never wore them."
Me: "That's kind of odd, to be in the image business and not have teeth. That's kind of basic."
Her: "Yeah. I think it's good to have teeth."
Me: "Definitely. It's definitely good to keep your teeth in your mouth in when you work with the public."
Let John Edwards get his $200 haircuts. I bet he never had as good a conversation with his stylist as the one I had with mine. Priceless.