Step one in the “return of the sailor” preparations is complete.
My hair is healthy thanks to a skillfully executed trim. It’s soft and shiny thanks to the super duper conditioning treatment I splurged on. It’s resplendent with natural-looking highlights that tell the world I’ve been lounging on a Maltese beach rather than slaving in a British Columbia rain forest.
The stylist responsible for my new do is a genius, an artist, a miracle-worker!
In addition to being all of the above, she’s also nice. She brewed a pot of soothing herb tea specially for me, brought me a stack of magazines and didn’t seem offended when I flicked through them instead of making small talk.
She massaged my hands, my scalp and my ego when she mentioned how silky my hair felt.
In short, she’s the pinnacle of salon perfection, but I won’t be able to see her for much longer.
She’s not my real stylist. She’s just the one I switched to while mine is on maternity leave.
I have moments of bliss because I’ve finally found a stylist who “gets” my hair, but then I realize how awkward it will be if I don’t go back to my regular one when she returns and I remember how much I hate any kind of confrontation.
I better take a few more pictures of my hair because it’s never going to look this good again.
I am grateful for hair stylists.
I spent the better part of today at the salon getting my hair fixed. Anyone who has ever seen my hair in its natural state knows this time frame is not an exaggeration.
A few years ago, I modelled in a charity fashion show at the Wardroom in Halifax. A fellow model (and still a good friend) convinced her hair dresser to donate an evening of her services to the cause we were supporting. Woo hoo! We had a professional stylist on site to prepare us for the cat walk!
When she introduced me to her hair dresser, my friend said, “This is Nanette, the one I told you about. She has difficult hair.”
“I see what you mean,” said the stylist, giving me the once over. “I’ll plan to spend a little extra time on her.”
Fast forward to this afternoon.
I left the salon feeling pretty darn good. My hair was silky, straight and resplendent with subtle caramel coloured highlights. If only my sailor was around to appreciate my new look!
I stopped at the grocery store to pick up a few things. The cashier was a woman I know slightly because I once taught her son. She is a lovely lady and a dedicated and devoted mother.
I said hello.
She peered at me for a moment before answering.
“I didn’t recognize you. Your hair looks nice!”
That’s how I learned I still have difficult hair.