I tried. I was succeeding. I made a valiant effort not to complain about my hair. But this is it. This is the post that has been boiling up inside of me for four full months.
My hair is driving me crazy!!!!
There. I said it. I should get over it now. Right? Wrong.
I can't help but think of the last time I heard the voice of My Favorite Hairstylist. I hear the echo of his words now, "If you want an appointment before Christmas, I book up fast. Book your appointment early..."
That was in October. I tend to get my hair tended to every three months or so, so I bypassed the busy Christmas season and was looking forward to seeing my stylist in the new year.
There was hope and anticipation of a revived version of myself as I dialed his number. I was aghast and dumbfounded when I was told my stylist had to quit the hair styling business because he had developed carpal tunnel syndrome in his hands.
I hung up the phone and my mourning period began.
I was sad and upset. I was already longing to hear his voice as he worked his magic with my hair. He knew my hair the way no other person before him did. He was making my hair become less about the drama and more about acceptance.
We had plans together, my stylist and I. He never told me exactly where we were headed but I liked the route he was taking to get us there.
Of all the time we saw each other, there was "one bad haircut". I went to see him about it. And he fixed it. He truly fixed it.
After all of my stories about bad hair days, bad hair cuts and bad hair moods I started to trust someone with my hair again.
Sure, we only saw each other every three to four months but I was in it for the long haul. I was committed.
Then he quit.
After the sadness abated, anger set in. How could he do this to me?! I trusted him. And he left me!! How? Why? Where would I turn?
A few sad days later, I sent him a text message. I didn't know if it was right or wrong. But I did. In it, I asked him if he had anyone he could refer me to. He was very kind and said he was referring his clients to stylists he thought would best suit them.
I so wanted to feel that sense of trust again. I followed his advise. Twice.
The first time was not good. The second time was worse. That was four months ago and my hair has not yet recovered. For some odd reason (I believe it is the way my hair was cut), my hair wants to caress my face. It is too short in back. It is too long in front. I cannot do a thing with it. Everything I do turns out looking odd. My best look is the "mushroom cap" style which seems to appear every time I try to talk my hair into doing what I want it to do.
Enter my potential new stylist.
She inherited a client with chronic trust issues. I walked in that door with my head of untamed locks and begged her to cut it without washing it so I knew what I was dealing with when I walked out the door. She obliged me.
The cut was not a good one.
Not her fault. She did everything I asked but I am not schooled in hair styling so I was only talking about what I knew. What I knew, was what I didn't like. She tried.
I thought it was a great cut. Until I woke up the next morning. It was bad. It got worse. I washed it, styled it and tried to tame its ways. I looked like a mushroom.
I got brave and called again. It was the only way. I have to learn to trust again. I begged her to try one more time. She said she could and she would. But she would have to wash it and cut it wet.
Once again, I would walk out of a salon with hair that I did not style myself and I would not know what the cut was like until I washed and dried it myself. Or ... until I woke up in the morning.
I woke up today and growled long and hard at the reflection in the mirror. Despite my new cut and her styling, my hair is still insistent upon encroaching upon my face.
My face is old. And haggard. And angry. I do not want hair that brings focus to my face. I want hair that takes your eye up and away from these worn out old features of mine.
But no! There went my hair. Again!!
I soaked my head and hoped for the best. It wasn't good.
I heated up the flat iron and did my level best to try and convince my hair to move in an "away from my face" direction.
For this moment in time, I have (somewhat) succeeded. I am not angry any more. I am just bitter. A haircut from January continues to haunt me to this day.
It is hard to learn to trust again. I love the feeling of trusting someone implicitly and I will try, try again. It is the only way ...
It could be worse. I could be bald.