My Most Excellent Hairdresser has an attitude.
I've been growing my hair out these past months in hopes of getting a permanent. One of those curly, I-don't-care-I'll-just-run-my-fingers-through-my-hair-and-it-will-look-great perms. But lately, although my hair was long enough for the perm, I have been WAY too busy to actually take the time out to GET the perm.
Add to that the fact that my hair has been just hanging. Flat, straight, and hanging. Dull, hot, stringy, boring, irritating, uninteresting, annoying, and it takes a long time to blow it dry. And did I mention it just hangs there?
So I had a hair crisis.
I decided to chop it all off and get a short, sassy perm that would let me tousle the curls and dry it in no time.
Enter the hairdresser. My Most Excellent Hairdresser. The one who thinks she owns my hair.
"NO. I won't do it."
"But that's what I want."
"NO. End of story. We've worked too long to get your hair grown out so you can HAVE this perm and I'm not going to ruin it all now because you're having an attack of crazy."
I knew better than to fight with her. She always gets her way. So I told her to go ahead and do whatever she wanted, because she was going to do it anyway.
She took off about four inches and gave me back my bangs, which had been sorely missed. Now my hair doesn't hang in my face as I kiss Mom goodnight, which is a plus. Although I do rather resemble a brunette version of the Little Dutch Boy.
I'm such a pushover.