Hair

So I think I might have a mullet. And I’m a little worried about it.

I went to my hairdresser today to get a haircut and my hair dyed. I’m not so good about remembering to go to the hairdresser. My roots? Dangerously close to my earlobes. I don’t know why, but it’s just not something that is high on my list of things to do. I think it falls under the "girl" gene that I was not born with. The same gene that makes women want to go shopping and be emotional, I don’t have that gene. I think instead I doubled up on the sarcastic gene. A much cheaper gene than the girl gene, by the way.

So I go to my hairdresser today and when I walk in his salon I notice it’s a little different. "I bought the place and moved stuff around a little." "Really? Wow, when did you buy it?" "In January." Yes. I haven’t been to my hairdresser since before January. But I’ve been sarcastic as soon as like two minutes ago.

I’m not quite sure why I go to this hairdresser. A friend of mine recommended him, and I don’t hate him or anything. But I also don’t love him. First of all he’s straight. How did I end up with the only straight male hairdresser on the planet? What’s even the point? If the gays are losing footing in the beauty industry they really need to be alarmed. Is all I’m saying.

Since he’s straight he cuts hair like you’d expect a MAN to cut hair. Gets in there, chop chop, dye dye, mess everywhere, and that’s all before the violent rinse. Oh yes. The violent rinse. It is so bad that I think I might actually block it out. That is the only way I can think of that I’d actually return to this assaulter of heads. Now granted, I’m not big on pain and really have quite a low tolerance for it, but come on. Should I really have tears forming in my eyes while my hairdresser is rinsing out my hair? I think no.

It is horrible. Horrible. There is the scrubbing of the scalp, the twisting of the hair, the putting of things on my head that smell and feel like they are literally burning my head. And then. AND THEN. After I have been put through the agony of having my hair washed, of nearly losing all feeling in my head, THEN the guy puts his index finger on my temple and MASSAGES my head. What the? The first time he did this I nearly burst out in laughter. He had just had me sit quietly as he pulled each of my hairs out one by one, and then he thought that MASSAGING my TEMPLE would make it all better. Like I could even still feel my temple.

And today I’m pretty sure he gave me a mullet. I can’t be certain until I turn on Fox News and see a story about the south, so that I can get visual conformation of what a mullet looks like these days. But I’m thinking my head is looking alarmingly similar to Jo from the Facts of Life. I’d take Tootie hair over this.

The worst part is that I have to take pictures in a couple weeks to go along with my book stuff. So it’s not helping when people say the hair looks fine. Normally I don’t give a rat’s petuty what my hair looks like (a fact made evident by my only semi-annual visits to the hairdresser) but there is a difference between not caring what you hair looks like and not caring what your hair looks like on press materials for your first damn book. Something tells me I’m not going to like this hair anymore in December when I have to see it again on a book jacket. Jo played softball, she did not write books.

I’m gonna need much more than a temple massage to get me through this one.