Tuesday, November 04, 2008

Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic

In the days of yore, back in the wild, woolly west, men used to sidle up to the bar, order a sarsaparilla & talk out their problems with their bartender. What a manly way to get some perspective & relatively free therapy.

Today, most women use their hairdressers. Who knows all your secrets? Your hairdresser. Who knows that the drapes may well not match the carpet? Your hairdresser. Who sees you getting ready for a big day? Your hairdresser.

Not so with me. I talk it all out with my waxer. I lurve my waxer. She's from a generation older than mine & she's wise & supportive, opinionated & funny. She's everything you want in a waxer, a confidante & a friend. My waxer recommended me to a new hairdresser. I was a bit hesitant {read: avoiding it kicking & screaming} to get my hair cut again, but I realized that a)my waxer has never steered me wrong yet & b)I wasn't going to be able to deal with the cut I had much longer without pulling a Britney & shaving it bald, so I booked an appointment today.

My new hairdresser? I lurve her. No. I LURVE HER! She got me, right away, just from looking at my face, my clothes, & running her fingers through my hair, she knew what I needed & wanted. & she gave it to me, right there in her chair. Wait ~ that's sounds slightly sexual. Ah, well. Can't be helped if you're a big ol' perv.

So, I've got a bangin' new haircut to go with the bangin' new colour {that I applied on Monday} for the big Theatre Festival I'm attending as a drunken audience member/chain-smokin' demon.

Now, I realize, as our neighbours to the south go to the polls, trying to vote for the best person/persons to lead them, that there are greater worries, greater issues at stake in the world than the state of my hair, but DAYUM! That girl gives good cut.

& I've been giddy ever since.


Anonymous said...

would love to see your new haircut!!

and can you share to your peeps who she is so the rest of us can get a great cut

have fun this weekend--i remember theatre fest--those were the good old days


Wilma said...

Her name is Stacey, she smells like moth balls, & she works in the Land of Loose.

Photos may be forthcoming after the weekend - we'll see if there are any fit to print.

10 years since we first ventured down the road to Strasbourg. 10 years. Ah, good times.

Three words for you, my friend...wish you were there.