New Year New Look

"It ain't what they call you; it's what you answer to."~W.C. Fields~

“It ain’t what they call you; it’s what you answer to.”
~W.C. Fields~

A few months ago, I wrote a cutesy blog about chopping off my golden locks, and my effort to  try to find another hairguru fit to be mine.  After two attempts with the same disastrous hair stylist,  I decided I needed to be bold, and search for someone with sheer,unabashed talent.

I booked the first available hair appointment at the  salon of my choosing over a week ago, and set out this morning on a mission; a sleek, sophisticated cut with some soft chocolate/copper lowlights.

That didn’t happen.

Instead, I came home today in salon-shock. I was actually terrified to go back and have the stylist fix it. What on earth would I do if it came out worse? Looking in my rear-view mirror, I thought to myself, “My head looks like a flipping Rothko painting!” Now that’s saying something.

I wasn’t sure whether I loved it or hated it. That in itself was unsettling. Afer all, I’m a decisive, know-exactly-what-I-like-and-what-I-don’t-like-kinda-gal. When I’m not sure of my own mind, I go a little crazy. Kinda like crazy-crazy.

I’m not a girly girl. I’m a straight-forward-down-to-business woman with a flair for being fabulous in the most charming way. Women like me who do it all, don’t have salon issues.  We have priorities. So, finding myself in the panicked way of the superficial and generally stupefied, I felt lost.

I called my mumster, and she drove in the snow to consult about my  dangerously extreme ambivalence. Even the word ambivalent irritates me.

Her comforting words were, “Don’t you worry. If it’s bad, I’m taking you to another salon, and I’m getting it fixed for you.”  I knew that I would be able to tell how bad it was by the look on her face as soon as I opened the door.

While waiting for her,  I read through my last ‘hair blog’, and went right to the last sentence, “That’s the rub isn’t it? Confidence. Confidence doesn’t come from a haircut, it comes from wisdom and experience. A good haircut doesn’t hurt though.”

Staring in the mirror, my mind drifted back to my time in the salon. I enjoyed my time there. I liked the stylist. The cut is terrific. She listened to my hair woes, and cut and styled it in a way to make me look un-sheep-doggish while growing it out again.  She made me coffee, and we laughed. She was a bit familiar about her sex life, and told me about a lover that could put her ankle over his shoulder and kiss her toes while he…ah-hem….you get the picture.

All I can think now, is that I need to find a man like that. After all, if he’s busy thrusting, kissing and contorting my body, he certainly won’t be looking at my hair!

Hmmm. A dose of my own medicine wouldn’t be so bad for me right about now – confidence. I stared in the mirror, hoping that by some beauty-mirror-mirror-on-the-wall-miracle, I would fall in love with my new colour(s).  I have the presentation of a lifetime to give next week, and I can’t walk in there looking like I’m sporting a paint  palette on my head.

My twisted-not-sure-if-I-love-it-or-hate-it-tiny-girl-brain thought; Keep the funk. Wear it like a crown. Blow their minds with pizzazz and confidence. After all, the cut is great. On the other hand, walking around mimicking Rothko with my coif takes confidence, fearlessness, and a touch of don’t-mess-with-that-one-she’s-got-guts.

Opening the door for the mumster, I stared intently at her features, knowing that in the flash of a nano-second I would know whether it was a love-do or hate-hair.

Love-do it is. Ironically, yesterday I read one of those annoying little sayings, “Accidental can be beautiful.” This certainly was an accident. Beautiful? I’m not sold on that. Striking and professional – yes!

I apologize dear readers, but I  have to stop typing now, and head out with my don’t-give-me-any-of-your-attitude-hair to find  a nice obedient lover who can help me do the splits.

Ciao.

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