Friday, April 30, 2010
Here's a first. I was rejected by the hairdresser I hoped would correct my recent haircut that resembles a bad Farrah Fawcett wig. It turns out it's even worse than I knew because I never look at the back of my head, but operate on the theory that what I don't know can't hurt me.
I normally have a lot of hair, but Hairdresser #1, we'll call her Annette, thinned it so severely that the crown suggests male pattern baldness while the rest of it bulges oddly on all sides. Carlos impressed me wildly with his honesty in turning down the price of today's haircut plus tip because he thinks it should grow out for at least three months first.
So I made another appointment for June, which is only six weeks, because I am not a paragon of patience and because my birthday is in late June. I'm hoping to look presentable by then. Meanwhile, maybe I can learn to do that adorable comb-over favored by deluded old gentlemen, or shave it off like Grace Jones, Sinead O’Connor and Britney Spears. But seriously, who gets rejected by a hairdresser? I laughed all the way home.