I’ve just survived one of the most terrifying events a woman can live through. I had a hair appointment scheduled yesterday, and received an ominous message from the salon on Tuesday. Cynthia no longer works here.
OK, back it up…what? The woman said she’d be happy to set me up with mumbled name who could take care of me. Umm, no. A woman doesn’t just change stylists like it’s no big deal. Geography broke me up with my beloved Kim several years ago, and I got settled in to a new salon, downtown, close to my office. I read in Washingtonian that redheads worth their salt would not dream of seeing anyone other than Melissa at this new salon.
I got semi-attached to Melissa; she did a nice job getting color back in my hair when it grew back from chemo. The next thing you know, Melissa is pregnant with baby #2 and won’t be coming downtown to do hair anymore. I allowed myself to be gently placed in Derek’s hands. Derek was good…until he decided to move back to Nashville and left me high and dry, with gray roots.
I was persuaded to try stylist #3; let’s just call her Snooty McCrabby. Not only was she not nice, she was a terrible stylist. One visit with her and I was done. The husband, who typically wouldn’t notice if I burst into flames, greeted me with “holy sh*t what happened to you?” Just for the record, that is not a good thing to say when a woman comes out of a salon.
They promised me that Cynthia was the answer to my prayers, and right they were. She fixed the other disaster and got my hair just the right color (the formerly natural color). We’ve been sailing along, happy happy happy. Cynthia no longer works here.
I was fired up this time. I decided to pitch a hissy fit and make them tell me where Cynthia went. I gathered my thoughts and called, ready for a fight. But the receptionist didn’t fight back. She immediately coughed up the information without me even having to threaten her. Thank goodness Cynthia is still downtown, and my hair is freshly “naturally” red as we speak.
But this is a Tale of Two Salons as well. The salon I just broke it off with is lovely. They have big dishes of chocolate candy and TVs all over the place, tuned to Bravo. There are no mirrors in the area where they do color, so I never accidentally glimpsed myself looking like the Bride of Frankenstein. No mirrors until everything was done, a nice touch I always thought. The new salon is nice but no TVs, no chocolate, and plenty of mirrors, so I was once again reminded why it’s a bad idea to look in the mirror when in the midst of “processing.”
I’m sure I’ll settle in to the new salon, but this whole thing has been very traumatic. I’ve experienced an inordinate amount of Stylist Anxiety and might need some peanut M&Ms just to calm my frazzled nerves. Crisis, narrowly averted.