Sarah was born with a brush cut so precise it looked like she’d had been shorn by a military barber. We joked about it, and called it her “Stockwell Day” do.
It took ages to grow. It started out wispy and wavy-straight. And it remained that way for many moons.
The curls appeared gradually, beginning with some teeny ones right at the back.
More curls eventually came along, but it was slow. Very slow. Her hair got curly, but it was kind of short too. And it was like this for quite some time. Here she is with more hair.
We’ve had her hair cut two, maybe three times at the most. And because she hasn’t had much practice she’s nervous about the whole process.
Emma’s a pro. She knows she has nothing to worry about.
Their different approaches to haircutting became abundantly clear a few weeks ago when I took them for a haircut at Carlingwood. We went to a barbershop. The sign out front promised a specialty in men’s and children’s cuts.
Emma submitted without hesitation and got a couple inches trimmed off the ends. But Sarah’s wild tresses were my main reason for going. And the hair people took one look at her and turned tail.
One fellow approached us, shaking his head. “I can’t cut hair like that,” he said.
Okay. At least he admitted it. But after it’s wet isn’t it like cutting any other kind of hair? But it didn’t matter. Sarah didn’t want to get her hair cut there anyway. It had taken a lot of persuasion just to get her to cross the threshold. She had become impossibly shy. Afterwards I asked her why. Apparently, it was two things.
1. There were too many men
2. The colour of the room was grey
I’ve been getting my hair cut at a new place down the street from our house. On Tuesday the three of us were walking by and I decided it might be worthwhile to slowly re-introduce the idea of a haircut, at this, a differently-coloured place that would have significantly fewer men in it.
We walked in, and were greeted by a kind (female) hairdresser and the (female) owner. I explained that we were on a reconnaissance mission, just scoping out the place. I pointed silently down to Sarah. Just then, a little dog came bounding out of the back room (LET GO OF THE HYGIENE ISSUES ANDREA) and we were introduced to Miss Elly. And that’s when her fears instantly dissolved. We were all charmed by the friendly, licky and playful canine resident. And Sarah expressed a change of heart:
“Can I get my haircut now mum?”
We returned the next day. Miss Elly, however, was nowhere to be seen. She was at home. Sarah was a bit disappointed (as was Emma, she was really hoping for some quality dog-time while Sarah was getting her haircut).
Sarah finally got her haircut. And it went really well. The lady took a couple inches off all around. Sarah did not flinch, fuss, or complain. And as an added bonus both girls received a lollipop. Emma chose green. Sarah chose red.
And we were all very pleased. (click image to embiggen)
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