Hair and there

So, I love getting my hair cut (is it hair cut when talking about the action and haircut when it's a noun?). It's a gamble, of course, not knowing what you're going to get. It could all wind up horribly wrong - you smile and thank your stylist (and tip, of course), then cry in your car the whole way home and spend $50 on a new hat. Or it could be the best thing you've ever done and you spend the rest of your day looking for a mirror everywhere you go, tossing your hair around like you're in a shampoo commercial.

Let's face it, the not knowing what you're going to get is part of the fun and can be highly exhilarating.

I have experienced both good and bad haircuts. I remember my first bad haircut like it was yesterday. I was in 5th grade (maybe?) and had an idea of the hairstyle I wanted. I wanted Lucy's hair from General Hospital. She had a very simple bob, with bangs.

When the lady was done, I looked nothing like Lucy. She gave me bangs from my forehead to the back of my head. Are you picturing a 10-year-old boy with a mullet? Because that's exactly what it looked like. And I'm pretty sure I cried. Until it grew out.

Since then, my haircuts have been mostly non-traumatizing. I flitted from hair salon to hair salon until my sister and I found Chad.* Let me tell you, the man knew how to work it. Best haircuts ever. People complimented me on my hair all the time and asked where I went. I was so proud to give out his name, he was so awesome.

I was with Chad for 15 years (well, okay, I cheated on him once in college, got a bad cut, for which he forgave me and fixed). I followed him when he opened his own salon and had been pretty happy with him over the years. Everyone we knew went to him and we were all happy and stylish.

But, like all good things, it had to end sometime. I realize I stayed with Chad longer than I should have. I can understand one or two bad haircuts, but it was getting to be every. haircut. He started taking me for granted and wasn't even trying anymore to make me look good. My friends told me to leave, but I wouldn't listen. We had been together so long. How could I leave him? I loved him.

And he knew about my crazy cowlicks.

But then I saw the hair clippings on the floor. No one else was accepting mediocrity. No one else screamed in their heads, "Enough with the round brush!" or "What the hell is that razor thing and why are you (unevenly) shaving off all my hair with it?!" My other friends were getting the love, attention and free product I (and my hair) so desperately needed.

Perhaps he never got over my cheating and wanted to hurt me the way I had hurt him.

So, I had to leave him. It's not without guilt and regret. I still love him. And, if I thought we could see each other as friends, I totally would. But, alas, it's not meant to be. I don't want him wondering what color highlights my new girl uses on me or if she's ever flat ironed as well as he has.

My sister-in-law told me he asked about me when she saw him last. At least I know he's thought about me. Maybe he'll think about his behavior for the future. I'll feel better knowing I have saved his next client a lot of heartache (not to mention money for new hats).

At any rate, my haircut today? Totally rocks. Where's a mirror?

* Name has been changed so I don't get sued or anything