I have hair issues. Really, I do. It's thin. It's flat. There's not a lot of it. The colors kind of mousy. It kind of looks like the guy from Silverchair's. Actually, after researching pictures of the guy from Silverchair circa 1990s, I've realized that he has a little bit more volume than I do.
Again. I have hair issues.
I have been discussing said hair issues at work for the past month, talking about how it's gotten way to long and something should be done about this. All of this came to a head when last week, my co worker Susan took it upon herself to contact my salon and make me an appointment. I was instantly nervous because (a) now I have to actually do something about the long hair and (b) I was positive that the staff at the salon now think of me as the lunatic that has other people make her hair appointments. We'll pretend that Susan is my personal assistant. Is that ok Susan? Great.
So I'm heading to my hair appointment, trying to get myself pumped up, when I remember a conversation that I had with a friend of mine a few weeks ago. She was discussing how her hair dresser gets onto her when she doesn't wear make up to her hair appointments. I then realized that to my hair appointment I was wearing blue scrubs, tennis shoes, a grey fleece pullover, and my hair in a knot. Looked like I'd just left the track meet.
I was even more aware of this when I walked into the salon and remembered how darn adorable all of the girls are that work there. Good hair, cute clothes, nails did. All of that. Here I am, totally looking like a slob.
The hair cut went well, my stylist worked her magic as usual. Six inches later, I was done. Initially I was quite pleased with it....until I realized how my outfit was really bringing the picture down. I thanked the stylest, paid for the cut, and made my way to the Wal Mart. During my time at the Wal Mart I couldn't help but think about how I would really be able to rock this cut more if I wasn't so painfully aware of my fleece. This is probably why I forgot to get straight pins.
I returned home, put up my groceries, and immediately pulled out my makeup, a pair of jeans, and a bright sweater. Instantly, I felt better. There's a little sass in my step. Thank goodness.
The lesson of this extremely long and wordy story? Dress for the salon. It will make your hair look better.
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