Hair

OK, so I'm a little over-confident about my hair. I simply assume that any Joe Blow off the street can do whatever they want to it, and it'll look fab! Never went to stylist school? No prob. Never even held a scissors before? Allow me to be your first.

I used to let my drunk college roommates hack away at my hair. I had two girls on either side of me, chopping away and never checking in with each other to see if it was even. So I looked like I let two blind toddlers cut my hair with a Swiss Army knife for a few weeks. Eh, it was college. I'm sure the cut went super well with my sweatpants and flip-flops.

My sister (no formal training) has cut my hair a ton. My mother (God help me) gave my totally rockin' bangs a monthly trim before many school picture days. OK, even I would sit in front of the mirror, chop off about 3 inches, and then scream.

I was looking pretty shaggy lately, so this weekend, I went to a "salon" to get my hair cut. I called all over town and the only place that had an opening was a quaint little shop that looked a little like the entryway to our old trailer house. Old jean jackets hanging on hooks, industrial carpet, a bin of dog food in the corner. (OK, I made up that last part). But, hey, that's fine. I figured if they were actually open, that means they were financially stable, which means they have customers.

I walked in and was the youngest person there by at least 60 years. Three elderly woman were lined up and sitting underneath those massive dryers, reading "The Catholic Digest."

Soooo ... I stayed. And sat down. I was a little nervous about what would happen to my hair in here. I had these visions of a tight poodle perm, which totally does not go with my face shape.

I just played it safe. Went with a trim. I'm still not sure if I got a bad haircut. On the awesome side, a haircut and an eyebrow wax only cost 20 bucks!

Score!