Bad Hair Day
It's been nearly two years since my rant about the eyebrow waxing from hell. Today, I had a bad hair experience that nearly beat it out.
Matt, my beloved hairdresser, disappeared from his salon a few months back. I stressed briefly, but realized that I was headed home in a couple weeks and I could get my hair done back in Michigan. There's a hairdresser back home that's done a pretty good job with my hair in the past.
Well, this week, I got to the point where my hair was getting way too long. I dug up Matt's cell phone number and left a voicemail asking where he was working now. But he didn't call back. And he didn't call back. And I was getting desperate.
A few months ago, one of the girls I work with sent me an email recommending her hairdresser. Convinced that Matt was blowing me off, I hunted down that old email, and made an appointment for this morning.
Big mistake. I didn't think she was doing a bad job when I was at the salon, but when I got home and brushed my hair out, I discovered that I had several long, thick strands of hair that were significantly longer than the rest of my hair. She missed spots. Seriously.
So, I had to break out the scissors and even out all the places she missed. I suppose I could have gone back to the salon and pitched a fit, but I don't think a pissed-off hairstylist would give me a very flattering haircut.
Later in the afternoon, I got home, checked my messages, and guess who called? Matt, my stylist. I screamed at the machine "Why didn't you call yesterday?????"
It's been nearly two years since my rant about the eyebrow waxing from hell. Today, I had a bad hair experience that nearly beat it out.
Matt, my beloved hairdresser, disappeared from his salon a few months back. I stressed briefly, but realized that I was headed home in a couple weeks and I could get my hair done back in Michigan. There's a hairdresser back home that's done a pretty good job with my hair in the past.
Well, this week, I got to the point where my hair was getting way too long. I dug up Matt's cell phone number and left a voicemail asking where he was working now. But he didn't call back. And he didn't call back. And I was getting desperate.
A few months ago, one of the girls I work with sent me an email recommending her hairdresser. Convinced that Matt was blowing me off, I hunted down that old email, and made an appointment for this morning.
Big mistake. I didn't think she was doing a bad job when I was at the salon, but when I got home and brushed my hair out, I discovered that I had several long, thick strands of hair that were significantly longer than the rest of my hair. She missed spots. Seriously.
So, I had to break out the scissors and even out all the places she missed. I suppose I could have gone back to the salon and pitched a fit, but I don't think a pissed-off hairstylist would give me a very flattering haircut.
Later in the afternoon, I got home, checked my messages, and guess who called? Matt, my stylist. I screamed at the machine "Why didn't you call yesterday?????"
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