See no evil, hair no evil

And the search for a hairstylist continues!

So, I got a haircut last week.  I had a coupon, I normally trust this place, so I took whomever was available. 

Let that be a lesson to me.

To be fair, she's very sweet.  She is funny, easy to talk to, and has the ability to make you feel comfortable right away... until she slashes your neck with her scissors.

It was all downhill from there.

It was, most likely, my fault.  I think she had made me laugh while she was cutting around my neck.  I jolted forward (as I sometimes do when I laugh) just as she was in a crucial spot.  She was inches away from my jugular.  I could've DIED.

Oh fine.  It wasn't that dramatic.

At any rate, I think because my near death experience freaked her out so badly, she stopped paying attention to what she was doing to me.  And, more importantly, to my hair.  After she spent the next 30 minutes apologizing and cutting, apologizing and cutting, apologizing and drying, I was sent on my way.  I thought it looked okay, but, then again, I didn't get a good look at the back.  I think she was trying to get rid of me pretty quickly.

I came home and looked at myself from all angles (a la shampoo commercial), and noticed that it looked like there was a big chunk cut out of the back of my head.  It could've been the new color, it could've been my cowlicks, but I was pretty sure it was cut wrong.  So, I made an appointment to get it fixed.

This is, unfortunately, becoming a regular occurrence for me.  I had to get a redo the last time I got a haircut, too.

I never thought I was freak about my hair.  I tend to make fun of my one friend who constantly obsesses about her hair.  But, it turns out I'm just like her. 

Gaaaaah!

So, 2 days later, I was back with the Slasher.  She was so glad I came back (probably wanted to make sure I hadn't bled to death / called a lawyer).  She cut and apologized, cut and apologized and I thought it looked okay by the end.  I was on my way out the door (again) when the manager came up to me.

Her:  Lea?
Me (thinking, should I know this person?):  Um, yeah?
Her:  Hi, my name is so-and-so.  I'm the manager.  I saw that you were a redo.  I've been watching her butcher cut your hair and yeah, even though you're not bleeding this time, it's still not right.  Do you have time for someone else to fix it?
Me:  Do I have to pay for this?  

Insert stylist #2.

I have never had anyone - not even Chad - take this much care to make sure my hair is even.  She was all up in my grill, making sure it was perfect.  I bet I beat the world record for longest breath holding in a single sitting.

2 stylists, 3 haircuts later, I'm alive to write about it.  To be honest, I don't think it looks much different than cut #2, but if the manager is happy, I'm happy.


I'm even more happy the problem is at the back of my head, which makes me conveniently forget all about it.