This afternoon I decided the time had come for my annual haircut, especially since I have two writers conferences coming up, and especially since I looked at the back of my hair in the mirror yesterday and found it rather horrifying.
So, off I went to Walmart (because honestly, why should I pay someone $40 to trim my long hair?). The girl who cut my hair was adorable and almost obnoxiously cheerful and respectful. Normally, when I go to get my hair cut, this is what happens: the stylist asks how much I want cut off, and I tell her. She says something like, “Sure thing,” and then cuts at least twice as much off, and I walk out feeling like a shorn sheep. This is what happens every single time–until today.
Today, she asked how much I wanted cut off, and I said, “Six inches,” because like I told you, I only get my hair cut once a year, and that’s about how much it grows in a year. She started combing my hair out and then she said, “Are you sure about the six inches? Six inches is a lot.” She measured off six inches of my hair and waved it in front of me. “That’s too much,” she said. “You don’t need to cut off six inches.”
So, for the first time in my life, I found myself negotiating with a hair stylist who wanted to cut off less hair than I had requested! After some brief but intense bargaining, we reached a compromise and she got on with cutting my hair. She did a great job, and when she finished, I was very happy with the amount she cut off. This is a novel sensation for me. So yes, she got a decent tip!
This morning we had our second last essay class. Tomorrow is the last one! Then I will get at least some of my life back. After driving all the way to Waxahachie again, obviously.