I have learned my lesson. I swear on my favourite underwear, on my craft supplies, and on that brick of brie in the fridge (ok, I know the latter won’t last long – so what) that I will never never never bring my children to First Choice Hair Cutters for a cut and style. MAYBE I’d consider going in for a bang trim, but that’s it.
Sarah has the curliest hair I have ever experienced, and to be honest, I have no idea what to do with it. I feel guilty that on busy mornings I am taking a regular brush to her corkscrew curls, thereby rendering her mop into something that is very Einstein-like. I KNOW I should buy some leave-in conditioner, a pick, and take the time every morning to comb it out, wet it and add gel and whatever ever products required to groom those curls and create the bouncy springs that are so joyous to behold. But who has the time? On some mornings I can barely pull it together enough to make a cup of tea.
Thankfully the children are now resourceful enough that they can pretty much feed themselves. (That is, if it ever had to come to that.)
So there we were, at FCH. Sarah was boosted up in the chair and the “hairdresser” and I had a long conversation about what to do with her hair, which to me, appeared dry, fly-away and very much in need of a styling.
I suggested a bowl cut: short in the bang and longer in the back. Why a bowl cut? I couldn’t think of anything else to do with this curly mop. The lady refused. She told me, for unspecified reasons, that it was a bad idea. We talked about a pageboy, but she tapped into my fears of the hair poufing out and told me that it wasn’t a good idea either.
“What about bangs then? Can you trim them?” I asked, wondering what kind of haircut we were gearing up to here.
There would be no cutting of the bangs either. She told me to just to use barrettes to keep them back. And then, most helpfully, and repeatedly, demonstrated all the different things I can do with her hair. AS IF I HADN’T ALREADY DONE EVERY SINGLE THING SHE TOLD ME.
She twisted Sarah’s hair back and clipped it with a long clip. “See,” she said, hands in the air, looking rather self-congratulatory. I couldn’t contain myself. “YES, I have done that before,” I said, in the driest tone I could muster.
“Pigtails!” she said. “You can put her hair up like this!”
My god lady. Do you have any idea how many hundreds of ponytail holders we have lying around the house; mostly mismatched, in tins, in boxes, in baskets, under the couch, in pockets, on the bookshelf, under the beds? We put her hair in a ponytail – one in back or one on each side – EVERY FLIPPING DAY. We’re lucky if she keeps it in for ten minutes.
To summarize: the lady pretty much refused to cut Sarah’s hair. She trimmed a quarter inch (if that) from parts of her head and called it a day. I think my response startled her.
“That’s it??”
We were there for about five minutes, what’s more, the hair looked exactly like it did when we walked in the door. There was no discernable difference. She glanced at a large price list displayed by the cash register. With this action I figured she wouldn’t be charging me for the trim. I felt my heart soften with the thought.
Oh, I was wrong. It was six dollars. And here’s the worst part. I tipped her two bucks.
