Nice Hair

I hadn’t had my hair cut in a very long time. It needn’t to be done. One day recently, while B and I took a walk through Hermosa Beach, I peeked into each and every salon…Which one did I like? Which one had a good vibe? I took a few business cards, even met the owner of one. I went home and looked them up online…checking cost and reading reviews. I landed on one that had unending good reviews and one of the lowest prices. Which by the way…absolutely kills me…the cost of haircuts. In fact, I took to haircutting myself just to save us some money. I now cut B’s hair on a  regular basis (outside, with him on our step stool under a plastic tarp…he loves it!). But anyways, I call and make an appointment at the salon and remind myself that I’m going to use my birthday money, so it's OK. I excitedly await my appointment.

I go. I say I’m willing to go short.

He says, what about a bob?

I say, sure. I’ve had before and I like.

He says, how about an asymmetrical bob?

I say no, thanks. It’ll bother me to have one side longer than the other. I’m a pretty even girl.

He says, c’mon. Give it a try.

Mmm. I don’t think so.

Oh, c’mon. Just try it for a few days. If you don’t like, come back in and we’ll fix.

So, in my head I’m thinking, yeah, Heather, live a little, this guy gets paid to do this, give it a whirl. Ok. I say.

He gives me an asymmetrical bob as I try to figure out what the tattoos covering his arms mean.

I get home. I hate it. I hate the bob. I take the scissors to it myself. And then when B gets home from work, I make him take a scissors to it in efforts of evening it out. It doesn’t work. It gets worse, and I almost start crying, to which B says, “It’s OK. I get it. I started crying when I got a bad haircut once.” At the time, I was too wrapped up in my hair horror to pay much attention to his words. But later, I asked him, "did you really say you cried once because of a bad haircut?" He says "Yes, I did. I didn’t tell you though it was when I was like six and it was more because I didn’t want the haircut in the first place…not because it was a bad cut." But you can see why I love the man. He tells me he cries after a bad haircut too.

So, I call the salon the next morning and say I have to come in. I go back in that afternoon. He evens it up. But he doesn’t wet my hair down to do it. He spends maybe three minutes tops on it. I know as I walk out, he hasn’t done it. He hasn’t fixed it. It was still—although even in length—an asymmetrical bob. And I am not asymmetrical. I get home and again take the scissors to it myself. Hair snip-its all over the bathroom. B gets home. I make him take a scissors to it too. More hair snip-its all over the bathroom.

For the next few weeks, I can’t walk past a mirror without wincing in pain at the horror that is my hair. It feels like I have 10 more pounds of hair on my left side. I also have a nice shelf going on all the way around. I mean I could put some hooks in and hang stuff on my shelf! It vaguely resembles a bowl cut. An asymmetrical bowl cut. And the worst part, literally…if I don’t part my hair in the exact spot it was parted when tattoo man cut it, I have chunks of hair an inch longer (or more) than the rest.

After spending nearly an hour in the bathroom one night, multiple wet downs, blow drys and breakdowns, and making us 15 minutes to a friends’ happy hour, I reluctantly agree with B. For his sake and mine, I need to go back in. I need to spend more money to fix my stupid bob for which I want to bob tattoo man’s head.  

So, I take to the internet again. Searching. Reading reviews. Etc. I land on a salon called Tangles because Lord knows I’ve really gotten myself into one. I go. I sit and wait and look around. On the wall is an artistic rendering of a woman with a bob. In fact, the word “Bob” is in some fancy calligraphy under the woman. Bob, bob, bob. I feel like Ben Stiller in Meet the Parents. "Bomb Bomb Bomb. I said bomb on an airplane." Bob bob bob. I say bob in a salon.

I sit in Tangles chair. Tangles lady asks what I’d like done. I nearly wail…HELP! I tell her my problems, the extra weight, the shelf, the part. She nods. She feels my hair. She nods again. She cuts out a lot of hair. A lot. Not much in length, but everywhere else. The nasty shelf lies in strands around me on the floor. The extra weight is shed. The part moves once more! She fixes my bob.

I walk out knowing I got a good hair cut. I go home and smile. B gets home and smiles. I go out and get a compliment: “nice hair.”