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(although I probably won’t because I also want to color it. Anyway.)

Yesterday, after 13 long months, I finally got my hair cut. I figure you are just as relieved as I am. I walked into one of those strip-mall walk-in places - Magic Cuts I think, I keep calling it wrong and giving Sarah an anuerism. Meaghan & Emma wanted to wait in the car and look over the yard sale stuff we got at a previous stop. Yes, this area has Friday yard sales and we had hit a good one on the way in, first of the season.

At any rate, my butt had barely warmed the hard plastic chair and I was being ushered over to the cushy haircutting chair. Natasha, the sign informed me, was ready to serve me with her professionally made-up and styled self. I caught sight of her French manicure and felt decidedly frumpy.

“What would you like today?” she asked, and I was more than happy to give direction. Short back and sides, not quite enough for clippers this time, leave the top with a bit of bang and enough to run my fingers through.

Her brows furrowed. “Hmmm…” she said as she scrutinized my head. “Why don’t I start, and we’ll check as we go along?”

Okay then.

I chattered away as she made her initial cuts, stopping once in the back to check the length of the beauty-school T along the crown. “This good?” I told her we’d start there and if she had to trim a bit, that’d be fine. I continued to try and fill the silence and hopefully give her direction. Initially to me she seemed unsure, and that is not always a good sign. Least of all when someone is near your head with scissors.

Think eighties Madonna I said. She couldn’t remember. Okay then, how about Billy Idol but not as short and masculine? Besides, I been there done that. I resisted to the urge to try and convince her I really was not trying to relive my youth, just going for a cut I know works for me.

She snipped away, checking in every few steps with me. No wispys on the face, clean up around the ears, yes. Just like that. We verified bang length and as I was telling her about the Best Hairdresser I ever had (back in high school, again, not trying to relive anything I SWEAR) I realized her furrowed brow was not unsureness, but had along the way turned into a Personal Challenge for her. She was going to follow my directions and she was going to have fun with it, dangit.

Besides, when she got to the top, I had told her that aide from length here and here, she could do whatever she wanted to the top. Her eyes lit and she dug into my hair with comb and scissors as if she was competing for the title of Top Hairstylist in my mind.

Sarah had come in a couple times to see my progress and leave pithy comments. We were nearing the end. The thinning shears had come out for up top and the sculpting mud was going on. Last time I styled my hair I had two option: gel and hair spray. Sculpting mud? Okay then. Playdoh my head.

I enjoyed the fingers massaging my weary head. I enjoyed the *cough* grey *cough* hairs left on the floor, more than what was left on my head. I felt light-headed in a good way. I felt like spring.

“Wow, Mom you look younger!” I opened my eyes to Sarah’s grin. Natasha the hairdresser was triumphantly holding the mirror so I could see the back. My fuzzy vision reached for glasses and I looked in the mirrors.

“Oh,” I said, “this is *cute*!”

“It suits your personality,” she declared. I raised an eyebrow at Natasha’s reflection. “When I wasn’t talking, I was listening.”

Ahhh. And indeed it does and she did.

When she rung up my total ($13) I asked if they did tips, “Oh honey we sure do,” she replied.

“Make it fifteen then.” I’ll be back.

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