hair, and the people who cut it, pt. II

The last time a man cut my hair, he twisted it on the top, snipped, and said, "Oops." Then he started singing along with the radio, as if I would mistaken his blunder for a song lyric. There was no mistake. I wore a knitted hat on my head for days. And then when it started to grow out, a guy I knew said, "Yay, pretty Heather's back again!"

Note to any guys reading this: No girl likes to be told she is conditionally pretty.

Note to any girls reading this: Do not go to Super Cuts on 68 next to Kroger, even if you get a coupon in the mail.

But when I called Studio 19 the other day and asked to make an appointment "today or tomorrow," the guy on the phone said it this way: "I could take you today, or you could go with someone else tomorrow."

Okay, well, great. Now I'm stuck, because if I say, "Ummmmm I think I'll go tomorrow," then he's gonna know that I don't want him to cut my hair. And I don't have anything against male stylists, I just don't want them to cut my hair.

So I inhaled abruptly and said, "SureIcancomeintoday."

So I sat in the chair in front of the giant mirrors and he asked, "What are we thinking today?" Well, I was thinking that he smells a lot like Chinese food, but instead I answered, fingering my hair, "I'm not diggin' this nasty mullet thing goin' on in the back..." And that's when I realized that he, indeed, had a mullet. I briefly rethought what I'd just said, noting that I'd used the word "nasty" to describe "mullet." Well, I could cover it up by saying, "You know, they're fine on guys, but...." However, I do not think mullets are fine on guys. So that would be a lie. So I just kept talking.

It's okay, though, because he got me back. I told him my "Oops at Super Cuts" story, and just as he stepped in front of me to cut my bangs, he let out a, "Whoops!"

Heather - 1, Deep Fried Egg Roll - 1

Then he laughed it off with, "Heh heh, just kidding. I just thought you needed to lighten up."

Note to any guys reading this: Things not to tell girls: "Lighten up," "You look tired," "Yay, you're pretty again."

Note to any girls reading this: Do not go to Studio 19 on Sir Barton Way, even though you get a 10% discount online.

Really, the haircut was fine. Mostly I just didn't want to look like Justin Bieber anymore. And I always enjoy new experiences. Oops! Forgot to tip you. Heh, heh, just kidding.

hair, and the people who cut it

I got my hair cut today. It was not exciting. I played with a 4-year-old girl named Kaylee who wanted me to try her can of Minute Maid orange juice. "You'll like it," she said, nodding coercively. (This is the most peer pressure to drink something I've experienced since high school.) I told her I wasn't thirsty, even though an hour beforehand I had just consumed a plate of sweet potato fries and was, in fact, thirsty. We put together a puzzle of the United States, and, try as I might, I could not get her to understand that the Atlantic Ocean did not fit between Texas and Colorado. We looked high and low for Montana until I gave up and told her that Montana had gone on vacation. Then she got up to get something and I realized she'd been sitting on Montana the whole time.

While the hairdresser was dressing my hair, I thought about my past haircuts. My favorite, by far, was done by none other than my roommate's mother, in my laundry room, one night when I told her, "Just do whatever," and her "whatever" turned out better than any selectively styled, celebrity-mock-ups I'd ever attempted in the past. She lives in Virginia, however, and I can't afford a 1oo-dollar haircut in gas money to drive there and back again (a Haircutt's Tale, by Heather Kraussins).

Over the summer I got my hair cut at a salon in Salt Lake City where everyone wears black and looks chic. They played oldies music and my hairdresser and I chatted about Doris Day most of the time. I didn't particularly love the haircut, but not only did my hairdresser message my neck and scalp as she washed my hair, but she gave me hand messages with lemon oil while the conditioner conditioned my hair. You might guess by this description and the salon's wooden flooring, and that even their light looked like it cost more than regular light (and that everyone wore black), that it would've been an establishment for those rich people who live in a canyon and have heated driveways and waterfalls in the middle of their living rooms. In fact, it was $19. I would definitely go there again, if it didn't cost me a round-trip ticket + $19.