It was for a good cause. I swear.
A few weeks ago, our church had put an announcement in the weekly bulletin for a fundraiser for a children’s orphanage in Mexico. Salon services would be offered at half-off and all proceeds would go to the orphanage- how could one not pass up this opportunity? Well, one could if they are a loyal and faithful client to their hairstylist (ahem, me), but it was 1. For a good cause and 2. A good deal. I couldn’t pass it up.
So. On Sunday, I drove over to the ‘other’ salon where I was greeted with friendly faces and a busy office space. After a cold water shampoo (the place was hoppin’ all morning with eager heads to be groomed and styled- thus, no hot water left), I was placed into the likes of Master Hairstylist Gionni, his hands nothing short of Edward Scissorhands himself. His Italian accent was heavy enough for me not to be able to make out every word he was saying- sometimes I would catch ‘chic’, ’short’, ‘flippy’ or his unfortunate description of my current style- ‘boring.’ He spent about ten minutes describing how he would like to frame my face and explained to me the look I should be going for.
"Look," I thought aloud in my head, "I am growing it out- I just want my twenty layers from last year to meet up so I can have a long beautiful mane again (that’s not to say that it was beautiful, but sometimes when you have short hair, all you can think about are the glory days of long hair)."
But it didn’t come out audibly. Or, I was being misunderstood by nods and eyebrow raising since I was trying so hard to follow his pre-butcher consultation. And in a moment of weakness, I okayed the whole process and he made me look like this:
At the end of the haircut (and most-amazing head massage in the process), I thought, not only have I cheated on my hairstylist, I now have to explain to her that this man really knew what he was doing with the round-about-way of talking me into chopping it again. And I couldn’t do it. I’m a wimp and I couldn’t face her ever again. So, I asked the small-framed Hair Master if he had a business card. I would have to change my hairstylist after this ordeal.
Come to find out, Mr. S came down from L.A. just for the afternoon. His day job is spent styling the pretty people at a modeling agency. He was a special guest star.
Of course. I totally cheated on my hairstylist. Totally.
*bananas are not sticking out my head in real life, just in this self-portrait 
You make me want to come back and play some more.
