Haircuts.
I hate having my hair cut. Always have. I remember my Uncle Roland telling me, "If you don't like it, make a fuss." How old was I then, 4? 6? We lived in Minneapolis and I think I was going to Great Aunt Amy's Dayton's department store for a chic big city haircut. I didn't like it. I made a fuss. A big fuss. Some people blamed Uncle Roland.
I don't like people in my space. I don't like to sit still. I don't like people fussing over me. I don't like leaning back into the sink, I don't like the smell of the shampoo, and I don't like the styling afterwards. I don't like paying all that money for something I could do myself. I don't like the way they cut my hair, and almost always come home in a snit and snip it more. Myself. My way.
So I had my hair cut today. It's been six months and I was quite shaggy. I mean, I've been chopping away at odd moments. Bangs in my eyes: snip snip. Too long in the back: chop. Feels dry: hack. Today I was walking fast in the mall and saw a hair place. Oh. I need a haircut. How long will it take, how much? Right away, $31. Too much; I walked out. Stopped. Went back, really needed a haircut.
"Let's sit and talk," she said. What? Talk? Panic! I'm outta here. Wait, really need a haircut. She lifted a handful of my hair and said, "You have too much bulk; it's not doing anything for you. I can fix that." Around my waist too?
I leaned back over the sink. She had fake nails and raked them across my scalp. The shampoo had a strong perfumey smell.She snipped delicately and raked the scissors over the ends, shagging them expertly. There wasn't much hair on the floor. About a tablespoon - for $31. She worked slowly and had a glum demeanor. Hurry up and get me out of here! I asked her about life. She recently broke up with her boyfriend of 2 1/2 years "What a waste of my time," because his mother was in all their business. She moved in with her grandmother. The boyfriend had custody of the 2 dogs and 2 cats. She was a full time student, community college, undeclared major, and part time haircutter. Six years experience cutting. Her father was a chef. He worked at a medical facility: nights, weekends, and holidays off. Good benefits.
I came home and chopped an inch off the bottom, shampooed out the shampoo, and combed it all back off my face. Whew, there, back to me.
I feel sorry for men. With your short hair, you must have to go quite often.
I hate having my hair cut. Always have. I remember my Uncle Roland telling me, "If you don't like it, make a fuss." How old was I then, 4? 6? We lived in Minneapolis and I think I was going to Great Aunt Amy's Dayton's department store for a chic big city haircut. I didn't like it. I made a fuss. A big fuss. Some people blamed Uncle Roland.
I don't like people in my space. I don't like to sit still. I don't like people fussing over me. I don't like leaning back into the sink, I don't like the smell of the shampoo, and I don't like the styling afterwards. I don't like paying all that money for something I could do myself. I don't like the way they cut my hair, and almost always come home in a snit and snip it more. Myself. My way.
So I had my hair cut today. It's been six months and I was quite shaggy. I mean, I've been chopping away at odd moments. Bangs in my eyes: snip snip. Too long in the back: chop. Feels dry: hack. Today I was walking fast in the mall and saw a hair place. Oh. I need a haircut. How long will it take, how much? Right away, $31. Too much; I walked out. Stopped. Went back, really needed a haircut.
"Let's sit and talk," she said. What? Talk? Panic! I'm outta here. Wait, really need a haircut. She lifted a handful of my hair and said, "You have too much bulk; it's not doing anything for you. I can fix that." Around my waist too?
I leaned back over the sink. She had fake nails and raked them across my scalp. The shampoo had a strong perfumey smell.She snipped delicately and raked the scissors over the ends, shagging them expertly. There wasn't much hair on the floor. About a tablespoon - for $31. She worked slowly and had a glum demeanor. Hurry up and get me out of here! I asked her about life. She recently broke up with her boyfriend of 2 1/2 years "What a waste of my time," because his mother was in all their business. She moved in with her grandmother. The boyfriend had custody of the 2 dogs and 2 cats. She was a full time student, community college, undeclared major, and part time haircutter. Six years experience cutting. Her father was a chef. He worked at a medical facility: nights, weekends, and holidays off. Good benefits.
I came home and chopped an inch off the bottom, shampooed out the shampoo, and combed it all back off my face. Whew, there, back to me.
I feel sorry for men. With your short hair, you must have to go quite often.
