If you've hung around here for any length of time, you will realize, the subject of my hair always seems to pop up from time to time...today is one of those days.
Over two years ago, my very favorite hairstylist of all time moved to Florida. It was a very dark period in my life. Before he abandoned me, he was kind enough to recommend another stylist in the shop. I've used her a few times and was very happy with her work. Was she him? No, but she knew her stuff.
As you might remember (if not, see the previous link), I'm not the very best about making regular appointments. So maybe I've seen her about three or four times since he left - so yes, I'm not THE best or most regular customer - but in my defense, I tip VERY well to compensate for my erratic habits.
And then, earlier this year, I kind of gave up regarding the taming of my curls. Then came the "Summer Hours" at work and I abandoned any and all thought to occasionally taming those curls; because who had that kind of time in the morning?
The inevitable happened - my hair grew. And then grew some more. I vaguely recall sending her a text and then a voicemail way back before Summer Hours was even a thing and never receiving a response. After Summer Hours began, I forgot about it completely - because 1) time was valuable and 2) with curls you don't quite realize how long your hair is getting because it's generally an inch or two shorter when in curls than straight.
Oh, you do know it's growing as every time you go to take a bite of food the hair falls into your face and you end up getting some of it in your mouth. And you notice more hair floating around on the bathroom floor - but it's not enough to actually make you want to DO anything about it.
Until you are faced with a family wedding.
Then you realize just how out of control your hair has become - and how slothful you've become in trying to tame the curls. So you call your "new" hairstylist...nothing. You call again...nothing. You call the salon, discover she is still working there and leave a voicemail...nothing.
By now it's too late - you are headed out for the family wedding with wild hair. You decide to wear it up and hope for the best. And decide that when you get home it is time to find a new hairstylist. *sigh*
Last night I dried my hair straight for the first time in - oh jeez, WHO KNOWS - how many months. I definitely need it cut but...the very thought of finding another great hairstylist who will also put up with my erratic ways is exhausting...but it's that or continuing the chew on the ends my hair every time I eat. Or maybe I'll change my ways and not get ghosted by the new hairstylist...oh who am I kidding?