I'm Fancy

I gave in and  I finally got a professional haircut.  The other day I got a glimpse of myself in a mirror after walking around at work for about 6 hours, seeing just about every person I've ever met in the last ten years;  and it was like I had two completely different haircuts. The back was one and the sides were another.  The sides were frizzed out all on their own like clown hair.  It was ridiculous and it took all the willpower I have in my body to wait one day to get a haircut instead of just hacking it off in my bathroom.  I was flying a little too close to the sun when I cut bangs and it didn't turn out to be a total disaster.  I thought I shouldn't push my luck.

So I went to a real salon, not even a Cost Cutters or a Great Clips.  The kind of place that is so fancy that they have hair washing sinks and they actually use them.  The kind of place where a hair wash and a head massage are standard instead of being unceremoniously squirted with a spray bottle full of cold water.  I got assigned a young woman who looked like she knew what she was doing, she looked like she had some style.  Not that I'd care.  Getting my hair cut by someone who can see the back of my head is luxury enough.

She brought me back for the hair wash/head massage, and while I was lying there enjoying it she said, "Do you want an eyebrow wax today too?"  HINT HINT.  I smiled and tried not to laugh and said no thank you.  Then she sat me down in the chair and asked what I wanted.  I said, "I've been known to hack a chunk off here and there and layers are hard to do when I can't see the back of my head, heh heh," hoping to break the ice and admit what I've done to myself in a funny, self-deprecating way, and have her say something like, "Wow, you did a really good job!" But instead I got no reaction at all.  She started cutting.  She did a great job and when she asked if I liked it, I said I did and asked if the layers had been a total mess.  She said, "I had to take a lot off this side, but hardly any off this side.  It was really uneven, and the sides were ... weird.  Hair cutting isn't as easy as some people [you] might think."  Then she proceeded with the standard blowdry and style.  When she finished she turned my chair around and I looked exactly like this:

It was poofed up so high I looked just like Peggy Hill.  She said, "Do you like it?" and I said, "Poofy."  I paid and then immediately found the nearest bathroom and wet it down as much as I could so I didn't look like a sixty-year-old politician's wife at a formal ball.  Now that it's unpoofed, I really like it.  Maybe I'll stop cutting it myself.  Maybe.