Hey, You, Get a Haircut!

Last week Wednesday, at 11 a.m., I went for a haircut. My hair was beyond the needing a haircut phase, it was more than straggly ends and no discernible hair style moments.

What my hair was, was a state of neglect.

I didn't need a haircut as much as I needed to treat myself like a person that needed to be cared for. Yes, every day I left myself a note on the kitchen counter, “Hair appointment!” but at the end of every day, the call for the appointment never got made.

I was too busy doing, whatever, for everyone else. A haircut takes 20 minutes, 30 if you ask for a shampoo. With no hair coloring or highlights, I do have 30 minutes to get my hair cut. So why the procrastination to the point of not being able to look at myself in the morning without my first words being my god I need a haircut.

Is it the salon chair that I don't want to sit in?
Is it the smock that always feels too plastic-y that keeps me away?
Is it the article that popped up on facebook about the woman who had a stroke 10 days after a haircut because her head was jerked back to tightly and ended up in a mini-laceration that led to said stroke? (maybe .0001% of a head nod for that one)

The chair at the salon is okay, even if I always worry that I'll be stepping into the well of the foot rest and my hairdresser will swing the chair at the exact wrong moment and knock me over. The smock is a PITA and lately, it's not exactly doing much for my physical attractiveness with a newfound effect of pulling on newfound looser neck skin.

And the stroke thing? I'll always worry about the stroke thing. With every single second of tingling and numbness that comes my way.

I didn't make an appointment because the time was never right. There was always something else going on and my hair-needs didn't feel important. But for something not feeling important, it ran through every second of my day every time I'd catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror. Haircut haircut haircut why can't you go and get your haircut??

It will feel good to have your scalp massaged, yes? Yes.

You'll like the way it doesn't snarl after your shower, yes? Yes.

Won't it look so nice, to have those ends just off your head? Yes.
Think about it, no more guilt when you look in the mirror, yes? OMG, yes. 

So, talk to me, what is the problem? Because there is one.

 

Mumble mumble, hem and haw. The truth? Yes, the truth.

 

I don't like to take time to do anything. 

 

Aha! But, let's say, your kids came in, right now, and said, "Mom, I need a haircut." What would you do?

 

I'd take them to get a haircut.

 

Buuuuut - you won't do that for you... is that right?

 

Nowhere to hide, is there? Yes, I won't do that for me. 

 

After this humbling exchange with myself, I called and made my haircut appointment. My stylist, Liz, is so cool. She took the call, she didn't say, "WOW. Looks like there has been *some time* since I last saw you." Nope, Liz gives me the appointment, she ends with, "See you Wednesday!" and then come Wednesday, she does.

 

I sit in Liz's chair, I say like I always do, "Did you hear about the lady that had the stroke after her neck was torqued at the hair salon?" She'll ignore that and go right into loosening my ponytail, squinting her eyes, and asking, "So? A good clean up?"

 

Yes.

 

"You okay with three inches off?"

 

Yes.

 

And we begin. My hands under a too hot plastic apron that I sneak out from underneath for fresh air every few seconds.

 

She concentrates, pulling my hair up and out and slides her scissors across. My shoulders fall back and my lungs fill with new oxygen. I look in the mirror and see shine where only this morning a puffball of split ends and fuzzy tips existed.

 

15 minutes later, Liz pulls the apron away and sweeps hair off my shoulders with the most delicate brush I've ever felt.

 

My hair in Liz's mirror looks tended to. I look like I matter to myself.

 

I thank Liz and leave a tip that is enough for her to get a salad of her choice at Panera's.

 

I drive home, looking in my mirror. For the first time in months, I smile when I don't hear back, why don't you get yourself a haircut.

 

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