My school loan refund check came in yesterday, so the first person I called was my hair stylist, M.  She'd moved salons again, sonofabitch, and this one was all the way across town.  But, since she's cooler than Jesus (see post below), I will always follow her.  I drove my happy ass to hell that area of town and pranced in, excited to get my nappy roots covered. 

Well, apparently, Miss M was sick, and didn't bother to call me.  I fumed a little bit and said I wanted it done anyway because I had just driven 82,734 miles to get there and I wasn't about to do it tomorrow, too.  After chatting with a couple of the other girls, receptionist lady said, "Well, I guess I can do it real quick."   First of all, "real quick" should never be in the same conversation as "I'm going to put scissors near your head."  Secondly, she talked like a hillbilly, so she kinda scared me.  I went ahead and agreed because 1) I wanted a damn color job, 2) her hair was pretty cute and 3) the hick thing is common in Oklahoma, so I can forgive someone if they are at least decent-looking (yes, I'm in a catty place today).

I almost got up and walked away, though, when she asked me, "I know you want your roots done, but...what color?  Like....beige?"  Uhhhh.  I said, "how's about the same color it is now?"  She said ok and went to mix the stuff.  I looked at myself in the mirror and shook my head.  This was going to be a long day.

I'm an observer by nature, so I'm pretty good at eavesdropping.  I listened as one lady talked about her hubby buying a car without telling her first and then having the car blow up the very next day, only to have the hillbilly dealership say 'too bad for you.' Another lady was talking about her fun trip to Walmart.  A man said, "I had some choice words for him" which got a woman's drawled response of, "now, you be nice...that ain't Christian-like."  Fine choice for a new salon, M, my tattoo'd, pierced, gothy M. Jeezy Creezy.

The lady started asking how I wanted my hair done.  "Chunky? Like mine?"  I said, "No, I think I'll stick to how it is now."  She said, "ok, then, how about the back?  Do you want the back done too? Because I think it would be really cute if you left the back all brown and did color in the front.  Ya know, like mine is."  She might as well have said, "my hair is cuter than yours, how's about we do it MY way?"  Gah. I once again told her no, that I would like to just do the roots.  Nothing special.

She continued to play receptionist throughout my hairstyling.  While she was rinsing my hair, she answered the phone, chatted for a few seconds, and hung up saying, "That was my gynecologist. That's never good news."  I didn't ask.  I just closed my eyes and let the water rinse away how itchy I suddenly felt.

When she finished, she turned me around to see the back, guess what?  Yep, she'd shaped it like the back of her hair.   But, I was ok with that - hers was cute anyway.  I liked the end result a lot. And, lucky for her, I never have a "style"...I always tell M to do something different each time anyway.  So it worked out. 

When I was about to leave, she said, "so what does M usually charge you? Because we like to keep things about the same price so we don't steal each other's clients."   I said, "I really don't remember."  (Of course I remembered : $110 every time)  She gave me a price of $75 and I was on my way.

So thank you, M, for being sick and letting me have this experience.  You just saved me $35 and provided me with fodder.  But now? Now everytime I see my cute new hair, I'll think of the receptionist with twat issues.  I think I need a shower. It's going to take quite a few rinses to get that one out of my mind.

*update* People are asking for pictures.  Here ya go. Nosey parkers.

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