better left to the pros

Some things, I like to say, are better left to the professionals.  Like teaching.  And doctoring.

And now, hair cutting.

I have a difficult time with getting my hair cut.  I’m pretty sure my mom trimmed my hair as a small kid, and the same lady cut my hair from the third grade until my wedding day.  I even drove home from college to have her cut m hair, because she was the only one who understood my cowlicks, my hair’s weird ways of refusing to hold both a curl and a straightening, my baby-fine texture, my scalp’s sensitivity.  She saw me through the great DIY highlighting disaster that left me with ORANGE HAIR.  We went through a lot together.

And then I moved 1000 miles away, where all our friends were also transplants, where I worked with a bunch of dudes.  How was I supposed to find a good stylist?  How would any stylist be as good as Joan?  So I went to MasterCuts and kept to simple styles.  And other women always seem shocked, but seriously, MasterCuts can give you long layers or a classic bob as well as anywhere, don’t hate.  But after a while with MasterCuts, I began to feel that trimming my hair would be easy enough for me to do myself.  Or better yet, since I can’t reach or see the back of my head very well, for Jon to do!  He can even cut a straight line better than I can!  So today we decided to try it…

Bad idea.

Within a few minutes I had a hacked-up left side of my head and was trying to throw a hissy fit without making Jon feel bad for something I asked him to do, even though he said several times that he wasn’t so sure about it.  Where’s Joan when I need her? Oh, right, Arkansas.

So, ashamed of myself for my hair-hubris, I headed into MasterCuts.  I made sure to emphasize just what an IDIOT I am before pulling out the ponytail and revealing the damage.  I looked like I’d had a dustup with a toddler and some safety scissors, if I’m being honest.

Ooooh GURRRRRLLLLL, my stylist said, you really chopped it!  I told her I understood she might have to take off a lot of hair, and swore upon a shampoo bottle that I would NEVER, under any circumstances, try this again.  She, proving my point about how easy they make this whole hair-cutting thing look, whipped my mess into a kicky bob in ten minutes flat.  I tipped her generously and left, breathing a sigh of relief that I’m not going to have to wear a paper bag on my head to work this week.  I’ve learned my lesson about doing things I should really be paying others to do.