THE WEEK THAT WAS

It is not unusual for things to go awry in our lives. Usually we learn a bit and just go on. However it is when we pay good money for the event and it affects what little vanity old age lets us keep, that makes it a bit harder to just grin and bear it. 

Some of you know I have been nursing a sore shoulder since a January spill I took on some ice. I am much better but still not totally functional.  Combing my hair is still a painful process to be avoided.  So as my former perm died and my hair was in desperate need of a cut, I was forced to seek help. My street person look was getting too realistic. So instead of cutting my own hair and giving myself a 5 dollar perm as I normally would, I hired out the job.

A lot of beauticians employ the trick of not letting the customer see what they are doing. They position the chair so our back is to the mirror and talk a lot to distract us. I can understand the reasoning. 

This girl had done just that and when she was down to about 4 rollers left to position, she swung me around to see.  Mercy, she had used more curlers on a third of my head than I use on my whole head.  Well I thought, this perm should last a while. 

When the curlers were removed, I was a bit stunned.  I was uber kinky, and not in a fun way. There was one real possibility in my future. I could definitely apply to clown school. Where did I put that red nose and huge shoes from my high school days as a clown?  
  

Not me or my picture. I didn't have the stomach to take an actual photo. Even old gals have pride.

Ok, that picture is a mild exaggeration but my hair really was out of control. It seemingly had grown an incredible three extra inches, had flared out in all directions and was perfectly frizzy. The image made me chuckle, till I realized, 'Oh crap, that's me.' 

Did my beautician act alarmed or at least a bit sheepish?? Nope. She not only did not try to comb it out or style it--she just shoved me under a dryer and then quickly out the door after making sure no one would see me exit her shop. I was surprised I didn't get the back door treatment. 

I was several inches taller and 75 bucks lighter. Actually, had this happened when my face was all puffy a while back, I could have gone on a 5 county crime spree and no one would know who I was. 

I wasn't too alarmed and was thinking surely I could tame the mess somehow once I got home.  However hours of painful manipulating with a bum arm did nothing but make it seem to grow bushier and set my shoulder recovery back a good month.

I buried my pride and went to lunch with some friends two days later. It was too early in the perm to do anything but wash and pray.  I did meet them for the meal but only after I had wrapped it tightly in a scarf for hours to smush it down before lunch. All through lunch, I could feel it slowly springing back to its original state. Feeling your hair literally growing on your head is a wee bit disconcerting.  

My head no longer found rest but remained several inches above what ever I laid it on. I was pretty sure if dropped on my head I would just bounce. The texture was very similar to steel wool and I was thinking it might take tin snips to cut it. After struggling for a week trying to regain control, I could take no more. I needed professional help.

I was not willing to let that original cold hearted beautician tackle the mess even though she owed me. So I desperately hunted for a beautician that could take me in RIGHT NOW. I needed help and I found it.  Maybe I should have taken this beautician's instant availability as a warning but I was desperate. What could she possibly do to make it worse? Push come to shove, I would just have her shave it all off and start from scratch.

The new salon was totally empty except for one beautician, usually not a positive sign. She was a  middle aged, very thin woman whose own hair was in dire need of a make over. I tried to console myself  that often the best beauticians and mechanics seldom had great looking hair or good running cars as they were too busy to work on their own.  I didn't hesitate to settle in the chair for I was desperate and there was always the shaved-head solution to fall back on.

However, my luck really improved. She turned out to be quite pleasant, very quick and thankfully talented. In just a few moments, she had deftly lowered my wild hair, clipped off the frizz, shaped the cut and gave me back a modicum of pride. Finally I could go out in public again, hold my head up and be recognized by friends. My budding career as a criminal or a clown was over before it got started. Life was good. 

  Am I still very curly?? You bet, but the kink has softened enormously and my head no longer bounces off the pillow. I miss my little bangs to hide my high forehead but I am Ok. My hair grows very quickly so hope is back that in a few weeks or so, all will be be back to normal once again. I can do this. Now when I wake up, I can shake my head, run my fingers through the really short curls and I am good to go. The no pain from useless brushing is a lovely gain.   

Have you ever had a disaster at the hairdressers or barber shop?? Would you have immediately demanded satisfaction from the original beautician or would you have done like I did to crawl meekly off with a silent vow of never to  cross that threshold again?