Continued from Straight Hair Talk Part I
I got out of the Hair Beast’s creepy basement salon as fast as I could and headed over to see my road and soul sister Lucy. She saw my hair and gasped. I promised her that as bad as it was, it could have been worse. Besides, I was free.
I swore to break the cycle of abuse. I wasn’t interested in getting serious again for a long time. I set out on a 1-year project where I would only get my hair cut if I could walk in and get it cut that day. I got my hair cut in town, and out of town, often not even bothering to learn the stylist’s name. Without question, the physical results were dicey. I became more interested in hats. But mentally, the equivalent of one night hair stands made me feel buoyant.
Then after about 8 months into the experiment, I was in Boise and dropped into a trendy looking salon, anticipating their snooty response when I demanded immediate attention. I saw the clients sitting under imposing hair dryers, sipping their big city wine, eye me with contempt. Then Brenda stepped forward to say she had an hour before so-and-so’s color was set and she’d loved to fit me in. Did I favor red or white wine? Would I mind a head massage? She hoped I didn’t mind the soothing scent of lavender. I loved Brenda. While she gave my misfit hair an expert cut, I plotted to come to Boise monthly for appointments. At 500 miles a round trip, it would be a sacrifice, but it would be worth it, I reasoned.
When I came to my senses, some weeks later, lavender still deep in my memory, I realized I was ready to be in a relationship again. Not with Brenda — the long distance would never work — but with someone. And this time it would be healthy.
I’m in that relationship now and that’s why I know better than to cut my own bangs just because my stylist goes on vacation after I’ve been on vacation and they are 5 inches long and I can’t see which is lucky since I look like Barry Gibb.
But it’s better than looking like Maurice Gibb — and I never ever want to go back there.