A Hairy Tale

I'm not a trendy person.

Never have been.

Never will be.

From time to time I accidentally happen upon a cute style but more often than not, if I get compliments on my outfit, it is one David has picked out for me.

Between babies, I decided to grow out my short, shag, flip in the back hairstyle I'd had for ages. Each time I would go for a trim, I would say to my stylist, "I am loving the length, so just shape me up a bit."

And she did. Perfectly. My hair was slowly growing closer and closer towards my shoulders and it didn't look like a flat, stringy mess like it usually does when I grow it long. I have tried time and time again to explain to David, that my hair is not the thick and shiny type that looks flattering cascading down to my waist, thus shattering his dreams of ever having a wife with long hair.

I loved my style because it was halfway trendy, and even better, took no time at all to style.

My regular hair stylist keeps getting raises. Hooray for her. Stinky for me. Each time she gets one, my haircut goes up $7! David kept lightheartedly teasing me about how much my haircuts were costing. And to the untrained eye, one couldn't even tell it had been cut. "I get a hair cut, a massage, and a hot towel on my face for $15 bucks. And this last time she threw in some free passes to the T Bones game! What do you get with your hair cut?", he'd chide.

It finally did reach a price which just seemed ridiculous for me to pay every 6 weeks. So I decided to "take one for the team" and go to a cheap walk in place to get my hair cut this time.

Insert ominous stage music signifying impending doom.

I psyched myself up for it beforehand. All I really needed was a little trim job. No drastic change, just a few snips to trim up my shagginess.

The girl situated my head facing down and snipped away. When she pulled it up to face the mirror...I wanted to turn away! She had whacked my hair off, and not in a cute way.

I went home in the depths of despair. I walked in and David said, "That was the fastest haircut ever." To which I spat back, "Yeah, and it was the cheapest haircut ever which made it the most awful haircut ever!". I silently sulked around the house for much of the evening. I did decide to finally communicate with David solely to be sure he knew this was all his fault for harrassing me about my expensive haircuts.

He just chuckled and said, "Oh just keep getting them. I don't want to sacrifice your happiness." (Saved from the doghouse by that answer by the way).

I woke up this morning determined to have a good attitude. Maybe it wasn't really as bad and I had first thought. I popped it back into two little ponytails and ran some errands. After lunch I decided to shower and do my hair just to ease my mind that it could be styled approvingly.

Of course, it turned out worse than I had originally feared. I used my straight iron, but it still curled under in the front and made me look like a 6 year old. And there were pieces hanging out the back that I had no idea what to do with.

While the younger two, and David, were napping, Reese and I slipped out and left a note that we had gone to get my hair fixed. I am not one to stomp back into the same place and demand a free haircut because the gal royally screwed mine up. So we headed to a pricier place at the mall. David had suggested I just go to the place where I had previously gotten my hair cut but I couldn't do that and face my stylist because she would have known I cheated on her.

I plopped down in the chair and the girl said, "So, what are we doing today?".

"FIX IT!", I simply stated. I went on to explain my plight.

She looked me over saying, "Hmmmmm" a lot. After a minute or two she made her diagnosis. "Well, it's missing a chunk in the back, I'm not sure what these hairs are that are hanging down here, and well, to tell you the truth, I'm not really sure what happened to your hair."

I was relieved. "So I'm not imagining things? I really did get an awful haircut?".

"Yup".

Thankfully she was able to fix it. Reese was sitting in the chair next to me saying, "Mommy, there sure is a lot of your hair on the floor!".

I didn't care, as long as it was getting fixed. The girl cutting it couldn't believe it had almost been down to my shoulders and I had just asked for a trim.

To wrap things up, it is quite a bit shorter than I intended, but I no longer look like a 6 year old, and I may just be able to pull this off for a month or two until it grows out a bit.

David was quite surprised that I was proactive and went out to get it fixed rather than whining about my misfortune for the next 6 weeks. I ended up spending $5 more (between the two cuts) than if I had just stuck with my regular stylist in the first place.

So honey, next time I have a good thing goin', don't make me feel guilty about it because who knows what I'll end up looking like....and how much more money will need to be spent to correct it!