Friday, August 8, 2008

Can we talk about my hair?

OK, here's the thing. I knew the haircut wasn't what I wanted, and I knew it was barely a change, but I didn't know to what degree. Every time I look in the mirror, I just get resentful and pissed off. Really pissed off. $40 gone, pissed away, poorly spent.

Why don't hair stylists listen to me? I think I speak clearly and articulately. I bring pictures, for god sake. What the fuck?

I got my hair cut on Tuesday. Since then, I have heard this countless times:
  • "May, I thought you were going to get your hair cut."
  • "May, why didn't you get your hair cut?"
  • "May, did you decide not to cut your hair after all?"
  • "May I like your new hair color. Are you waiting to cut it?"
  • "What day is your hair appointment?"
What does this tell you? It should tell you that I am neither lying nor exaggerating about the hair cut situation. I am frustrated.

I'm not going back to get it fixed. Why would I want to sit under the scissors of a stylist who has just been told her work is unacceptable? I think that puts me in a vulnerable position.

On Wednesday, I emailed the David Cassidy picture to a coworker. When she actually saw me, she burst out laughing and said, " You look like the picture but more flippy. I am so sorry."

This incident has done absolutely nothing to restore my faith in hairstylists.

May is furious and embarrassed.

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