A Hairy Dilemna

I know what the proper attire is for a wedding, a funeral, a birthday party for a three year old, a job interview with Donald Trump, St. Patrick’s Day, and tea with the queen. All the fashion mags keep me up to date on the latest couture for those occasions.

What I really need help with is what to wear to get a great haircut. I want a Desperate Housewives mixed with Sex in the City style. Not Everybody Loves Raymond meets Happy Days. I know I’m a mom in small town on the outside, but inside, I’m Raquel Welch.
I’ve had so many disappointing cuts I almost gave up hope. I spent a lot of time debating whether I should shave my head and go with a wig or grow it really long and wear a bun. Then I figured out that the type of haircut I get reflects whatever I’ve worn to the salon. Using that information I’ve ruled out a few items of clothing on my own.

Sweats with banded or elastic ankles are the worst possible thing to wear. Not only do they make women look like lumpy trolls, all they will buy is a cut that looks best when hidden under a baseball cap. I look really bad in a baseball cap. Save the lumpy troll pants for scrubbing the grout in the shower.

Anything screen printed or appliquéd with birdhouses, apples, pumpkins, or teddy bears wearing vests etc., comes in second. My daughter calls them teacher clothes. They translate into a bob with bangs for me. I hate bangs. My mom used to cut them for me, crooked, usually the day before school pictures.

Yet, I frequently walk out with thick, perfectly straight, poke me in the eyeball length bangs. Even when I explicitly state that I don’t want them. I’ve finally resorted to telling the hairdresser up front, “I don’t mean to be bitchy, but if you give me bangs, I’m not paying.”. It’s worked so far. I just get the bob, with no bangs.

Ankle length skirts and sensible shoes may result in what I call electric bangs, which are far worse than the poke me in the eye kind. Electric bangs are those that are teased a foot higher than the actual scalp. They are wispy and see through like a spider’s web. Because they require so much hairspray to stay aloft, they may also, like the web, trap small insects.
In spite of all these failures, I decided to give it one last try before going all Britney Spears and shaving my head. I went into my closet and hauled out my spiky heeled boots. The ones that get stuck in between the boards on the front porch if I don’t tiptoe. I pulled out a silky top my twenty-something daughter had cast off. Jeans and a cute jacket topped off the look. I almost wished for a tattoo.

When I got to the salon I parked my green Hyundai out of sight. No need to give them any ammunition to cut that bob again. Trying to walk like I wore high heels everyday I sashayed inside. When I meet my stylist I managed to bluff my way into a pretty good cut with the almost long enough to tuck behind the ear bangs.

It’s closer to Friends than Desperate Housewives. But I’ve been stuck with Happy Days for so long I’m not complaining.