This past Wednesday I did something scary--I tried a new hairdresser. ("Mine" moved away.) It went like this:
She: What would you like done today?
Me: I want to take off a little hair --when it gets long in the back it turns up like this, and with my hand I show her the turned-up ends.
She: It's too heavy...we'll just thin that out.
Me: But I don't want it so short my ears show...
She begins to snip, snip, snip (little snips, actually) and I, believing in her ability and intelligence, sit there--like a sheep before her shearers is dumb--watching her thin out my hair until there is no bounce left, discovering later that she changed the cut on me unawares. But at the present I'm hopeful that my fears are misplaced and the end result will still be beautiful. But as she blow-dries my hair, leaving the sides flat and lifeless, my hopes for a beauty miracle begin fast-fading away, and I am slowly dying looking at myself in the mirror wondering how I will go out that door and face the world... (baa! baa!)
She holds the mirror up for me to see the back. I try to be positive. Yes, it's nice. The hairs look neat and in place. She smiles kindly. I kindly smile back. (But I look awful... I berate myself for not questioning what she was doing, for not being more specific, for not taking the reins in my hands, but no! I am a dumb sheep...baa! baa! )
I, the eternal optimist, entered the beauty salon thinking I was going to make improvements, but I'm leaving, as I often do, disappointed. But the worst is, I paid money to look like this.
P.S. My hubby was traveling on my "hair day" and only arrived this morning. He said, "Your hair looks nice." I stifled the "baa" that was rising in my throat and said instead, "Really?" All of a sudden, life looked better.