A New Hair Stylist

 

I am looking for a new hair stylist, and I swear it is easy to find a different gynecologist then someone to cut and color your hair. The cutting part isn’t as important to me as the coloring however. A bad cut will grow out. A bad batch of chemicals and you’re hair is crispy and falling out in clumps. But, I do need to touch up the highlights and sprinkle in a few low-lights as well. Rob seems to think that letting my natural color grow back, and allowing the grays to continue their obvious take-over, would be a good thing. I guess, being a man, he doesn’t see the point of something that needs such time intensive upkeep. For me it’s more about the natural color than the grays, which are actually white. If I were all-white, which I will be one day I guess, I would look like an albino for starters. But the trouble is, I am nowhere near all white yet, and my natural color is a dark red, not quite auburn, that I have never liked. I have been lightening my hair since I was about 18. The low-lights are recent. Until I tried them, I hadn’t ever dyed my hair, just bleached it. 

 

For many years I just went back to my hometown to have a high school friend of my sister’s, who is a stylist, do my highlights. It wasn’t until I married Will that I found a stylist in the area near my workplace. Coming to Alberta meant finding someone new again and without the benefit of someone I knew to make recommendations. Both of Rob’s daughters manage to avoid salons. The older one has a friend who is a stylist, and the younger does her hair, from cutting to coloring to styling, herself, and quite beautifully I might add.

 

My first cut here was just a trim, and I went to a fellow who used to play beer league hockey with Rob back in the day. He did a good job. Wasn’t pushy, did what I asked, but a trim is not a highlight. A new acquaintance recommended a stylist at a spa in the nearby town. She said that he got high marks from many people she knew when she first came here. It’s funny, and not so, that I am putting more thought into this decision than I did into picking my daughter’s new school. Of course, a school experience is usually what you as a parent choose to put into it, and if you are paying any attention at all problems can be headed off or corrected before damage occurs, my hair could be ruined in an instant.

 

It’s so ridiculous. To worry so much about what amounts to a bunch of dead skin cells. I guess it goes back to my childhood. Even when I was fat and awkward, people would remark about how beautiful my hair was. Today I listen to people say the same thing to my daughter, and I watch her soak it in and wonder what the long-term effects of that will be. For me, even though I am not the fat girl anymore – I am told often enough that I am thin and even pretty – I still guard my hair and consider it an asset of great importance. Interesting is hardly the word for something so pathetic.

 

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