Late Saturday afternoon I knew it was then or what seemed like never. As I headed out of the house to run a few errands, I decided to stop at the Fantastic Sam’s in my neighborhood and see if there was time for an overdue haircut and some highlights. They were pretty empty, so it wasn’t a problem. The shop closed in 2 hours and 15 minutes, so time wasn’t an issue. So they said.
One hour and 45 minutes into the process, she was still foiling my hair. The whole thing took almost 3 hours. By the time I walked out the door, none of us were terribly happy.
My highlights came out great. She did an excellent job with them—one of the best highlight blending jobs I’ve had in a long time. On the other hand, I think she failed math class somewhere along the line. The 1 1/2 inches I asked her to trim off turned into 3-4 inches along the way. I was shocked when I stood up and saw much longer pieces of hair scattered across the floor than I expected to see. But what can you do? Color can be corrected. Length is just a matter of time. She was already getting the dagger look from her co-worker for being 40 minutes past closing; I didn’t think it was good to add to her misery.
Sunday found me with not enough words in any one language to describe how I hated my haircut. Monday I was home sick with a cold and fever. My hair didn’t figure into my concerns of the day. Yesterday I realized the haircut has great structure; it will grow out well. Perhaps there are enough words in the English language to convey my dislike of my haircut. Perhaps by next week I won’t need any of them.
photo courtesy of Ugur Can