Write About A Haircut

It had feathers.  One on each side of my face.  I was mortified.  The stylist?  He was ecstatic.  Perhaps it was the AquaNet induced high he had acquired from all the spraying needed to sculpt those feathers.  But as I sat there in that leather swivel chair, all I could think about was damage control.  I was rapidly calculating how long it would take for my hair to grow out and what mitigating factors I could use in the meantime.  I mean, come on, the man had just whacked off most of the hair on the sides of my head to form two perfect Farrah Faccett type feathers.  My mom wasn't helping.

Really, this was all her fault.  I was down, admittedly, having just lost a very lousy job with lousy pay.  My boyfriend had been spotted with Janice last night at the ice skating rink and the knowledge of my misfortune was quickly scuttling its way about town via the biddy grapevine.  My mother's brilliant idea was a makeover complete with new hair-do and outfit to shake off this grey mood and launch me back on my feet.  It just goes to show you how desperate I was that I actually accompanied her to her salon and let this "stylist" attack my head.

I figured it would be three months, tops, before I could truly re-style my hair.  Until then, it was going to be a very, very long hat season for me.

"Oh hon, it's just fabulous!  Just what you needed!  You don't even look like you anymore!", my mother gushed as she patted the crispy hair molded over my ears.  She was beaming at me hopefully.  She was so anxious that I just couldn't beak her heart so I mustered a weak smile and nodded sagely.  At least I hoped it was sagely.  Not a hair on my head moved with the motion.  I upped my estimation from three months to four.  Maybe head scarves would make a comeback.  Or turbans.

"I think it just so suites you honey.  And after we get you in a new outfit, why, you won't even recognize yourself!" she declared as she scurried off to settle the bill.

Yes, I had sunk so low that my mother was now paying for my haircuts.  It was junior high all over again.  I slumped in the chair and took stock of my reflection.  Barring the hideous hair, it wasn't all bad.  I swiveled back and forth checking my jawline.  OK, there was a little pooch but I was going through an emotionally difficult time.  A girl needs a little extra sustenance during times of distress to keep going.  Right?  Leaning in I traced a few lines across my forehead and around my eyes.  Frowning made them worse.  When did those appear?  I scooted back out of the stylist chair quickly.  These lights were not flattering and I needed to get some air.  I paused at the door.  My mom was still chatting away by the register.  I didn't have anything to cover my head so my only option was to make a dash for the car and hope no one I knew spotted me.  That would be difficult.  Our town wasn't large and the strip mall we were in boasted a constant flow bet6ween the Radio Shack, Starbucks, and Ace Hardware. The odds were good someone would spot me.  But the smell of hair spray and chemical straightener was making my head spin so I grabbed the door handle and made a bee line for the car.

Of course, it was locked.  Of course, Travis, my supposed boyfriend, would be stepping out of Ace and that exact moment.  Of course, our eyes would meet.  I reddened.  He stopped in astonishment and stared at my hair.  Or what was left of it.  I just couldn't catch a break.