"A hair in the head is worth two in the brush"

           So, the topic is, you guessed it, HAIR. H-a-i-r, hair! We women know all  about hair.  We know it's a love/hate relationship,  sometimes even a hate/hate relationship.  We've had those struggles with split-ends, conflicts with curling irons, battles with bangs, fist-fights with frizz, a dandruff debocle or two, and the occasional tiffs with tortuously tedious tangles! Some of us might admit to splurging on ridiculously over-priced hair-care products claiming "voluptuous volume", "tantalizing texture", "serendipitous shine" or "whimsical waves."  If you're one of those girls who's found herself  frustratingly floundering up and down the aisles laden with cans of aerosol spray, jars of gels, and bottles of some-kind-of-flirtatiously-named-gunk-you-can-rub-into-your-scalp, in search of some chemical remedy for your currently limp, but soon-to-be luscious, locks, don't feel too bad.  I'm right there with you sister!   

                                                     

        I mean, at the end of the day, all of the harrowing hours you spend agonizing over your hairdo pay off.  You know what I'm talking about.  It's when you catch a glimpse of how amazingly awesome your hair looks in the bathroom mirror or reflection of a store window.  It's when you're walking outside and the wind picks up your hair and you pick up a nice gush of that freshly-shampooed-and-mega-sprayed-hair smell.  It's when a friend, co-worker, kind stranger turn to you and say, "Hey! You're hair's lookin' great today!" It's these simple, and yet precious, moments of a woman's day that make all of the early morning straightening, tugging, bobby-pinning, back-combing, spraying, and just full-fledged primping, all worth it. 

       And that's why, ladies, we do these things.  That's why we're constantly doing and re-doing our hair, and checking in the car mirror to make sure it still looks okay.  That's why some people are addicted to dying or highlighting their hair.  To change it up or to finally find that color that they just love to look at in the mirror every morning.  That's why I'm addicted to haircuts. 

        Yes. Haircuts.  I love them.  I love the way it feels to go to the salon and have someone wash and blow dry my hair.  I love the feeling of having my hair pulled up layer but layer into those tiny hair-holding clamper things.  I love to run my fingers through a fresh cut and feel healthy, light, perfectly layered, split-end-free hair.  I equate my experience at the salon to what might be a little boy's experience at a baseball game.  Except instead of a Yankee's jersey it's a giant black bib-thing, and instead of crackerjacks it's lollipops.

         I love it....but I also hate it.  I hate it because I get my hair cut so often that I should know how to articulate to the stylist exactly how I'd like my hair cut, but never actually do.  You see, I have a problem.  It's called shyness. You may have heard of it.  When it comes to speaking to strangers, especially more-adult-than-me strangers, words rarely come out, and when they do, they're the wrong words.  As a result, nine times out of ten, when I get a hair cut, although I end up loving the way it feels, I hate the way it looks.  

        Being summer, a time to pull out the sundresses and get your hair did, a few days ago I decided to make a trip to the salon.  I wasn't going for a new look, just a touch-up of my A-line bob that was starting to grow out and look gnarly.  Typically, I go to the mall to get my hair cut.  It's cheap, but not six-dollar-butcher-your-hair cheap at the local Value Trim.  My dad suggested I try this place where his lovely wife, Amy, goes to get her hair done.  I agreed, because Amy always seems to have the inside scoop when it comes to quality at a bargain.

         We pull up to a place called, "The Hair Cuttery."  The name should have given it away.  It's probably co-owned by the owner of "The Meat Cuttery" down the street.  We walk in and I get seated in front of a  woman named Tonya, who promptly asks, "What kind hair cut you want?" Sadly, I can hardly understand a word she is saying due to her thick Korean accent, and my gone-deaf-due-to-head-phone-overuse ears. 

          Once I finally understand,  I think to myself, "a nice drastic A-line, short in the back, but longer in the front, still past my chin, hair parted to the left, with some side bangs and nice layers framing my face."  What actually happens is I raise my hand to my head and say, while motioning from the back of my head diagonally down to the front of my jaw, "I was thinking-."  "-a bob?" Tonya says.  I nod.  "You want bang?" Tonya asks.  "Um, well I usually part my hair to the left and do a bang to the side," I sort of stammer. "Okay. You want 60/40?" asks Tonya.  I have no idea what that means. "Um, yeah," I say.  Then, silence. 

         After a nice washing, Tonya begins the hair cut.  "I take this much off, that okay?" she says using her fingers to indicate just a couple inches.  I nod.  She cuts.  Like six inches off.  My hair is gone. I'm not one to cry out and stop someone while they're working.  I wish I was. Needless to say, I left the hair salon with tears welling up in my eyes.  Don't worry, this is normal post-haircut behavior, remember?  No biggie.  It's super short and nothing like what I pictured and asymmetrical (longer on the right side than on the left).  Sigh....

                                                   As you can see, I'm very distraught.

                                  It's growing on me.......but not fast enough! Grow hair, grow!
                         
       The best part is, in a week or two, when I've gotten used to the cut, and it's grown out slightly, I'll probably love it.  No, no.  The better best part is that after a couple months of deciding I'm growing out my hair long again and I'm never going to cut it, I'll be back in the salon.  It's a vicious cycle.