This post is for Jenny-O, pursuing the perfect hair cut.
Back in the eighties, when I was in the corporate world and flew places in aeroplanes, I had the perfect hairdresser. His name was Pierre, he owned the salon, and every four weeks he sent me off with the same perfect shower and go hair cut.
|Me, with good hair in the eighties; Jan, who always had naturally curly hair; Beth, about eighteen and gleeful over her illegal Scotch; Mom, the good one.|
And so it went, until I moved far away, to be an artist and a weaver at art shows. The old hair cut was a bust; my small amount of curl air dried beautifully in an air conditioned car, and stayed nice in an air conditioned office. It was a disaster in a hot, dusty tent. Sweaty, stringy, awful. I went from salon to salon to shop, and no one had the knowledge to give me a decent cut for my job.
One day, at the old house, I heard my sister on the back deck, shaving one of the dogs. I went out and sat on the end of the bench until she was done. Then I asked for the clippers, removed the clipper guard, and proceeded to shave off my hair. Jan was horrified, but only for a few seconds. We wound up laughing hysterically as I finished putting a hot, sweaty mass of hair into the trash can.
I had a show the next weekend, and it was one of my best shows to then. My customers thought I was dying, and if they didn’t buy it now, they would never have it. When my hair grew back enough to need my ears lowered, as my dad said, my ideal hair cut came to me. I had any operator cut the sides and back with a size six or eight clipper guard, and “cut the top to match.” I carried on with the same cut well into my township clerk days. Why fool with a good thing.
A couple of years ago, a good fifteen years into the same cut, I decided I needed a new style. It came about because I saw a picture on the internet. I do not know the woman from Adam. I just swiped her picture to show my current hairdresser.
Mel, who cuts my hair, told me straight up I no longer had that much hair, though it is relatively thick. However, we could approach the cut. And, she did nail it, in about a year. I had good hair this year. Here I am at the gym, in February, I think. Not bad for an old lady with thinning grey hair.
Then the fateful trip to DC; slung down a bus aisle and stopped by a metal box. I think of my mom saying “It’s not the fall, it’s the sudden stop!” As I’ve mentioned, I do not remember arriving at the hospital, or anything for the next three weeks. But, someone took a picture of me, unconscious, after subdural hematoma release surgery. I’ve never been able to count all those staples, plus several stitches, hidden in there.
Mel cut my hair when I came home, six weeks ago, and I will go again this weekend. Poor Mel did not know what to do, and I said “Just what you always do, except skip the right side.”
So, dear Jenny-O, be careful what you wish for. I had a great haircut once. For about three months.