Some time ago, I mentioned to my local friend that I needed a hair cut.  I had been growing my hair out for months, and it was finally at a decent length, but the ends were super dry, in dire need of a trim.  She told me about a friend of hers that studied in London, and is “the best hairdresser around!”  I have found a decent hairdresser here, that I have had a few good experiences with, but I decided to give this new girl a try.  My friend told me that this woman had studied in England, but after she got married, she didn’t really work in a salon, other than doing some work from her home.  A twinge of alarm went off in my head, but I pushed it away, reminding myself of many women in the West that work from home salons. 

When we arrived, we walked in the door, an immediately into a little back room that had some basic hair styling equipment, along with stacks and stacks of student chair, with the little table overlay.  These, I was told, were for when she does classes on makeup and hair design!  My heart eased, thinking that if she taught people how to do hair styling, that she should be on top of her game.  My friend showed me a book of hair designs, and I quickly found the style that I desired – long with layers framing the face.  When I showed her the picture she said,”Oh, but you don’t want it long because then you will have to come for hair cuts more often.” 

“Yeah, but I want it long.  With layers.  I want it long.” 

“Your hair is so fine. The layers will not work so well in the back.” 

“I’ve had it done before and it looked great.  I want it long.”

*stylist begins to cut*

There was one snip in particular when I thought, “Oh my.  She’s cutting it short.”  But what could I do?  The snipped hair could not be reattached.  I did have one glimmer of hope that perhaps what I was seeing in the mirror wasn’t really, actually happening, but that was quickly dashed when she began to blow dry my hair.  My hair rested squarely at the curve of my neck into my shoulders – exactly the length that my husband hates. 

I wanted to cry, but I didn’t have time.  There was a baby party to go to right afterwards, so I paid the stylist, wrapped myself up and headed over to the party. 

All of my girlfriends gushed over my new hairstyle, saying, “I’ve always wanted short hair but I can’t do that with my type of hair.  I wish I could have hair like yours!”  For those hours, I felt beautiful, and was deluded into thinking that maybe, just maybe, my hair wasn’t as bad as I had first thought.

I was, though, quickly brought back down into reality with a firm, solid thump when I walked through the door.  As  pulled off my head scarf, my husbands eyes lighted on my hair and his whole face fell.  “It’s short,” he groaned, as the light and love in his eyes disappeared. 

I have since tried to have a good attitude about my hair, but, to be honest, the first few times that I styled it, I thought that I ended up looking like a dowdy mother.  I have resorted to rinsing my hair with filtered water once I’m finished washing my hair in order to rid it of the brackish residue and, hopefully, it will grow to a desirable length before the ends dry out and need a trim.  Until then, my hair clips are my best friends.  And I’ll be making an appointment with my original stylist without fail!  It doesn’t take much for me to learn my lesson.