Friday, October 18, 2013

Divorce court

I got the best haircut of my life last week.

And now I think I'm headed for a divorce. Yes, I know. The two are not necessarily related. Bear with me.

Anyway.  I knew it was going to be the best haircut of my life from the moment the first hairs started to fly. And it wasn't just because my Sasquatch-esque thatch was being tamed after several months of neglect. It was simply shaping into the Best. Haircut. Of. My. Life.

When I got home, my date confirmed my suspicions. "That's the best haircut you've ever gotten," he said. Throughout the week, my friends and workmates echoed his sentiments.

"Great haircut."

"Love your hair."
"It makes you look 10 years younger."  !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

After this (and apparently decades of less than adequate haircuts), wouldn't you think I'd be basking in an epic cosmetological afterglow?


I am conflicted.

For you see. . .the stylist who gave me the best haircut of my life. . . was not my regular stylist. (Remember her? The one who drove sent me to face rehab last winter?) No, she's out on an extended medical leave and won't be back for 5 weeks.

With a wedding and charity auction less than 48 hours away, I was desperate so I went with The Divine Ms. L.

Who gave me the best haircut of my life. AND dazzled me with her tales of being an almost surgical tech student at one of our local community colleges. . . my, ahem, employer.


TDML: "Did you know that as a cosmetologist I'm required to be licensed every year, but surgical techs are not. I mean. Really. These are people with THEIR HANDS IN YOUR BUSINESS for hours at a time. And they're not licensed?*"

With impeccable timing, the salon went suddenly and inexplicably silent just as TDML bawled out "THEIR HANDS IN YOUR BUSINESS" in her best I'm-Your-Mother-and-I-Mean-It-Voice. 

No one batted an eye. Apparently, this is de rigueur in the shop.

* And, note, surgical techs must pass the  National Certifying Examination for Surgical Technologists before entry into practice so take a powder, it's not like they're going off all half-cocked and unlicensed in YOUR BUSINESS.


But back to my impending divorce. My date said, "You've got to start going to her. That's one of the best haircuts you've ever gotten." The ladies at The Chambers of Horrors my place of work reassured me they all have divorced hair stylists at least once.

I take cold comfort in this. The Divine Ms. J and I go back a ways.

And yet, because she's a student (apparently on the Five Years and Counting Plan because of, by her own admission, several disastrous encounters with math. . . a woman after my own heart), The Divine Ms. L works late afternoons and evenings. . . which perfectly accommodates my current lifestyle where giving up a Saturday morning to sit in a stylist's chair is sometimes less than preferable. And that's in addition to giving a helluva haircut.

So I put it out there: Divorce or cosmetological reconciliation?

I eagerly await your counsel. In the meantime, excuse me while I go admire my head.

1 comment:

  1. Go with Ms L. Cross the road when approaching Ms J's salon. Better still, avoid the area altogether. If you should be so unfortunate as to bump into Ms J, call out "how ARE you?" while hurrying on to your "late appointment". Think about Darwin's survival of the fittest evolution thingy. I've been there. Good luck.