Sunday, May 1, 2016
Lilac and Quartz
______Five long years.
______That is how long it's been since my last "real," in-salon haircut. But that all changed this past week.
______The room I entered with my mother was spacious and tidy with pale planks of laminate flooring coursing mindfully from wall to wall. There were typical decor items dotting the entrance of the hair salon that could be purchased through local home stores: a jade buddha head, a lattice screen panel, wrought-iron wall pieces, the souls of the damned... everyday stuff that made a place feel a little more comfortable. Orchestrated Michael Bublé music (sans those deep, delicious Bublé-tastic vocals) strummed through the air.
______To the right was a waiting room filled with chairs and stacks of old magazines that described the absolutely enthralling journey of how a female celebrity gained five pounds over winter, and how it was just so insane and noteworthy enough to be the cover story. To the left were black pleather swivel chairs that faced mirrors so that one could watch as their preciously-grown hair was snipped away.
______Amazing how one's dutiful hair growth can be lost within seconds. It's like when you take weeks, nay, months, to get rid of four stubborn pounds, and then eat it all back in one sitting with a deadly but delicious brownie sundae extraordinaire.
______Before I knew it, I was seated one of the swivel chairs to the left. The tiny woman who was previously at the front desk was suddenly behind me and pump-pump-pumping the seat up so she could reach the squirreliest tips of my scraggly blonde hair. It splayed along my back like Medusa's reptilian hair, only hers was likely more tame.
______It had a mind of its own, this hair, frequenting local gas stations to purchase chilly cherry slushies, causing petty drama in local pet stores like scribbling "YOU GOT PUNK'D" on turtles' shells in white chalk, and tripping small children. These long and gangly ends of my hair were misbehaving like a teenage punk or a very naughty garden gnome. These ends of my hair had to go.
______The woman said some things to me about how she'd fancy working with my hair, and I never really managed to get a word out on how I wanted my hair; she intuitively begin spritzing my hair with water, combing it, and snipping away as if I was a shrubbery in her yard that she knew the core of so very well.
______Rather unlike me, something about her allowed me to trust her with as she did her thang... Likely because she told me I looked like Cinderella. I could totally deal with being a Cinderella shrubbery.
______Chunks of my hair dropped to the planked floors soundlessly like rose petals on still water, or the severed heads of one's enemies during a heavy snowfall. The woman expertly wove her comb through my hair, smoothing out pieces and trimming the ends, measuring deftly as she went. She was a tiger in her natural habitat, hunting for the best 'do. The comb slid through my hair easier and easier with time's passing and was soon able to go through all of my hair: please note this is a thing that has never been done for many years.
______She was complete.
______I had survived.
______I barely even cried.
______Eye of the tiger.
Dress: Lulus (similar)
Heels: ASOS (exact)
Tassel necklace: Charming Charlie
Earrings: local artisan
Bracelets: local artisan
Infinity bracelet: c/o BornPretty