Hair

It's that time again...the painfully uneventful haircut. I always want to some kind of miracle to happen to me when I go to the stylist, like on "What Not to Wear" makeover shows. Instead, I go in with short hair and I come out with short hair. I talked to the stylist about growing my hair out again and what I thought I was hoping for as the end result. He wrinkled his nose and said, "Why would you want to look like that? Everyone woman your age has that hair." I think to myself, "How old do you think I am" and "I don't look different now with this mushroom head thing going on? Given my druthers I 'd rather look like everyone else". Of course, I say nothing. He intimidates me with his tattoos and his cool hair. I shrug my shoulders and say, "whatever you think".

Well, apparently what he thinks is that I should not try to look like women my age rather I should look like a member of the Jonas Brothers. He is describing the hairstyle and I wrinkle my nose and say, "As long as it is not too masculine." "No, no, no of course not." He walks over to the book rack and pulls out his portfolio, thumbs through it and finds the exact hair cut he is thinking about. "This will look fabulous on you." I look at the picture, look at him, look back at the picture, look at my boobs, and say, "You know that is a picture of a guy?" "Yes, yes, yes, just picture him with your face." Granted he did have a feminine face. I looked at the photo, glanced up at him and reminded him that I was in fact a woman. He snaps the book shut almost taking off my fingers.

As not to upset the ARTIST, I let him have his way with me. After a half an hour in the chair and $55 dollars later, I look that same as when I came in.