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Cadw'r Ddysgl yn Wastad
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
It hurts to be beautiful
After washing, blow drying and an attempt at styling my hair this morning, I give up. Looking good in this mess is impossible. Time for the dreaded "HAIR CUT".

This happens less often than it should but the scars I carry are extensive. I have had more than my fair share of scissor weilding, artist-hair-geniuses than anyone I know and for some unknown reason, the mere sight of my pathetic mid-70's doo, conjures fantasies of elaborate coifs that are intended for poodles. No matter if I bring in magazine clippings, have a long, heartfelt discussion of the previous nightmares I've experienced at the hands of a "styling-psycho" or threats of law suits, they all go the same route.

I am sure they start out well-intended, intent on following my instructions, but it all goes south somewhere around 20 minutes in. The first indication of trouble is when she starts talking incessantly (obviously trying to distract me from the growing pile of hair at my feet). When a "consult" is required, I go cold. I have had The Dreaded Consult the last 3 hair cuts,(much whispering, sidelong glances,etc.) . And price makes no difference whatsoever here. A $30 cut or a $130 cut are equally disastorous.

I am biting the bullet and scraping out the savings account for my next sashay with the stylist. I can only wear my hair in an elastic for so long before it feels as though my brains are being torn out through my hair roots, so here goes nothing.

And don't ask for pics! I "turtle" for about 3 weeks after a new doo, until I can learn to wrestle the stuff into shape and be seen in public again.