“Just a trim. A little layering through here,” I say. “You can see where it’s heavy in the back and on the sides.”
“Sure,” she says, snapping the smock together around the back.
Over the next 30 minutes, through protests and intervention by other stylists, all of us attempting to guide her politely, I receive the following:
Worst. Haircut. Ever.
Well, worst haircut that I ever paid for. My consolation: the out-of-pocket cost wasn’t much.
They say you get what you pay for, but I’ve never found that axiom to be as true as some would have us believe. I’ve generally been the pleased-as-punch recipient of excellent haircuts compliments of the local quickie Walk-In salon. My hair is thick, straight, and healthy. Easy-peasy to cut, and I’m not terribly fussy about it.
Easy until yesterday, apparently.
I repeat:
Worst. Haircut Ever.
An hour later I was sitting with six elderly women having tea. Several are dealing with significant difficulties, physically. A few others suffer issues with memory and mood. But one was bubbly and relaxed and making wry remarks in French (as usual), cracking me up. We were all wearing hats – compliments of the Activity Staff – to make our tea more fun. And it was fun.
Besides, the hat covered my bad haircut.
And when we have bad hair, aren’t we consoled by the good company of kind women?
There was chat, there were stories, there were hugs and kisses. Once the tea had been sipped and cookies consumed, all seemed appreciative of the pretty floral-patterned china and white table cloth, not to mention the elegant hats. (In case you’re wondering, there was velvet with a jeweled ornament, a floppy hat in cheery lime green straw, there were wide-brimmed sun hats and a few pillbox styles embellished in feathers.)
By evening, I found myself sitting outside in a patio chair and nursing a glass of Merlot. Bad hair aside, I felt just fine. And I will chalk that up to an incredible sky, fresh air that was neither too hot nor too chilly, and a brief walk through my neighborhood in which it was not lost on me that everything is sprouting, budding, blossoming or in full flower.
Suddenly, and most spectacularly.
The dogwoods, in particular, transport me.
Bad hair?
It won’t last. Nor will the blooms, the bright sky, or the precious moments with these interesting women whose stage in life reminds me to enjoy mine, with its ups and downs, while I am here. Right now.
Flowering.
Please visit these lovely ladies and their special spots, where you will most certainly enjoy perusing, looking, and reading. Their pages are filled with ideas, images and words to inspire and encourage us to think, and to appreciate what we have and where we are… wherever that may be… now.
- Lost in Arles
- The Empty Nest Mom
- Motherese
- Only You
- Being Rudri
- Peripheral Perceptions
- Team Gloria
- Shifting Gears
- Splenderosa
You May Also Enjoy
I am so honored to be included in this group! And I am sorry to hear about the bad haircut — you are right, though, it will grow back. Happy spring!
Love the story about your hair. And the tea.
We let hair be such a big part of us, don’t we? Well…I do anyway. I once went to work when I was so sick I should have stayed home…just because I was having a rare great hair day and didn’t want to waste it. True story!
Here’s a “Hair Story” I recently posted on my blog.
Perspective. In short supply, these days. Thanks for lending it today.
Thanks so much for the mention, D! I really appreciate it 🙂
Gosh, I remember never liking my haircuts when I started getting them outside. It’s an awful feeling, isn’t it, when you know you have to face the outside world with something you’re not proud of. But thankfully hair grows out.
Have been thinking of you as I was in your neck of the woods last weekend but was literally in and out (a less-than-24-hour trip). Will catch up with commenting soon (on your other posts)!
I love Carol’s comment. Yep, perspective. Because this took me right back to my WHCE (worst haircut ever :). It was in Paris, believe it or not and a splurge. I was sad, missing NYC and thought that I would give myself a treat even though we were dirt poor at the time. I had a photo of what I wanted in case my French wasn’t clear enough and the guy just… kept cutting. And cutting. Until I yelled “stop!” – the owner of the salon came over and tried to fix it but couldn’t. When I got to a phone booth after I called my honey and cried and cried and cried. Interesting to look back on that story now and see what it was all about. And how fantastic that you don’t need ten years to get your perspective and your priorities in line.
Thank you for the mention, wonderful lady.
this is why we own quite a few Hats.
#beenThere
*sighs*
feeling-your-pain.
Fran cuts mine. It’s something she has always done, for her boys and husbands. Years ago, at a thrift store, she got a complete set of heavy-duty cutting equipment in a solid wood carry box, with a stenciled name on the box — “Bill.” It appears that “Bill” learned his trade courtesy time spent involuntarily with the state. Which, as a digression, reminds me that I spent some involuntary time with the state yesterday — my Good Friday civil disobedience at Lockheed Martin, the world’s largest war profiteer. Not enough time to learn any hair cutting. Anyhow, she can do a cutting in ten minutes; less if she’s in a hurry or feeling stressed. One time she forgot to put the comb on the shaver and did a bald spot on one of her sons. Oops, she told him, maybe this was the time he would get a skin head. He was overjoyed to hear that, and that’s what he got. I’m hardly a hair person in any case. Fran has let hers grow out and does nothing to it at all. No one’s cut it in years. Was natural strawberry blond when younger, now more blond. Hair is what it is.