She Put My Creepy Ears Down

Once upon a time I found what I like to refer to as a great "hair lady". My hair doesn't just automatically look great no matter who cuts it, no matter the style, not matter the length, no matter the phase of the moon, although I know a few people with perfect hair (ahem, Amanda). In fact, it seems that all conditions have to be exactly perfect for my hair to look half-way decent. At least that's my belief. Having lived 34 years with this head of hair, I have learned that my hair indeed requires a miracle worker. So back to my story (this could get long)...

I found a perfect "hair lady". I was almost always pleased with the results she gave me. Like a rebellious teenager, I got the urge to see what else was "out there" a couple of years ago. I don't know what made me do it, I just did. Actually, it had a little something to do with a VERY short haircut, but everybody should be entitled to at least one little slip up!

First, I went to a man my mother-in-law was just loving. My hair looked ok, especially if you like the shade of snow with some polar bear highlights and a bit of a "I'm the best guy in town" attitude. I guess some hair relationships are made to be broken.

Next, I went to a VERY expensive yet lovely salon with a very skillful stylist. I found her highlights and cuts pleasing most of the time. At first. Near the end of our time together, I started feeling like she was rushing my cuts (which can never be good) and I just wasn't loving the way it looked. May I remind you about the little issue called MONEY? I just realized that I didn't want to continue paying so much and leaving less than happy. Considering I was paying her children's future medical school tuition with every visit, I really needed to be happy. She is a very sweet person, and I wish her well. We had a good run...

So, I did it. I picked up the phone and made the call. I am the prodigal hair client. My "hair lady" didn't even yell at me for leaving or any of the other million things I imagined her doing. She welcomed me back with open arms. Before long, I was all caught up on her kids, her ever-changing love life, etc. I was home again.

My hair received at major chopping. It is quite shorter than when I walked through her door. When I got home, Parker told me I looked creepy and said something about that lady putting my ears down. He went on to talk about it looking kind of like a boy and kind of like a girl. Then he said it looked great and he loved it. Go figure. I made Brian take about ten pictures so I could add it to this post, but none of them were deemed acceptable. In my opinion, it really isn't all that different than some cuts I've had in the past, so don't get too scared or excited. I can only imagine what you're picturing after Parker's vivid description.

Moral of the story: The grass is not always greener on the other side.

The End