On my birthday, I had planned a “me” day. I was going to do all of the things I don’t normally get to do because other things on my to-do list are more important. I was going to go the the big Powell’s Book Store, for example, and browse for hours if I wanted. I was going to go shop at a local store for more t-shirts. I was going to get a new kilt from the local kilt maker. I was going to go get my hair cut. Getting my haircut seems like an odd one, but for me, I generally just let it grow until I have time and inclination – two things that don’t generally line up.
But I ended up being sick on my birthday. Sneezing, chasing down my nose which was running all over the place, taking Advil like they were M&Ms because my body hurt, and generally wishing my head would just explode already because, well, it would make me feel better. Did I mention the nausea? No? Well, there was that too which is always a joy to deal with.
So instead I stayed home as much as I could. The family had planned some things that I went and did because, well, they were already planned. And that is what a Moe does – she pushes aside how she is feeling to do what is planned when she can. So I did none of the things I was going to use my birthday as an excuse to do.
Today, I woke up and thought, “wow – I think may be feeling better – at least while I’m horizontal with a pitbull licking my hand as she acts as the little spoon on the bed”. I read a bit because, well, I wasn’t sure I wanted to get up yet. Other things happened that made me think I should just stay in bed (with the covers over my head) but coffee finally called me louder than the covers, so I got up.
After a cup of coffee, I decided that today I was going to do at least one thing on my birthday to-do list. So I decided I would get my hair cut – a simple thing – but one I have to be in the mental state for. Why? I don’t do small talk. It never is done quickly. And is it only me? But how much does it suck sitting there being forced to look at your face while your hair is in weird position on your head and you have a cape on you? I sit there and find myself spending my time counting the things wrong with me. Yeah, I have to be in the right space to get my hair cut. (It’s really no wonder why I have long hair, generally.)
I forced myself to go figuring if I went at that moment that I would likely get into a chair quickly. I don’t have a regular stylist, so I find a salon that is good with walk-ins and who has done well in the past and go there. I walked into the salon, signed in via their high-tech system using a tablet, and waiting a whole 5 minutes. So far, so good.
I got a woman who was quiet. “This could be good or bad,” I thought. Sometimes the quiet stylists end up with the most awkward conversations as they force themselves to be more outgoing with clients. I took my hair out of my bun and told her what I wanted. The ends needed to go – and not just an inch but probably at least 3 or 4 inches, so just bob it to my shoulders and make it look right. “Make it look right?” she asked. I explained that I know some people come in with a photo or idea that doesn’t necessarily match their own body structure, so use what I say as a guide and make it look right on me. “I can do that,” she said, “now come with me so I can wash your hair.”
Full disclosure: I always ask for them to wash my hair. There is something about having someone other than me wash my hair that is wonderful. I cannot adequately explain it. Sometimes the person washing my hair does a better job than a massage therapist doing a chair massage. And this woman – damn!
I think from start to finish, the shampoo took 10 minutes. She got the water to the perfect temperature, then used the sprayer to get my hair all of the way wet, keeping the sprayer close to my scalp. I heard her put shampoo into her hands, then felt her massage it into my hair. Massage being the operative word. She found all of the tension spots on my scalp and worked them out with her fingers, then she scoured my scalp with an abrasive quality that almost made me moan. After this continued for a while, she rinsed the soap from my hair – and I heard her getting conditioner. She put the conditioner into the lower part of my locks, then resumed the scalp massage but also added into the mix my forehead. No matter how hard my mind tried to drift to my to-do list or to the things stressing me out at the moment, her fingers brought me right back to the moment. It was truly bliss.
Finally, she did a final rinse then asked me to sit up. I had to take a couple of deep breaths to get back into the mode of getting my hair cut. The massage she just gave me had put me into a momentary state of bliss. I seriously wondered if I needed to add a new fetish to my kink list – and if what I was feeling was consensual or nonconsensual.
Back in the chair, she combed out my hair and started cutting. She had the most amazing, Steampunk-esque style barber scissors I have ever seen. As I looked at the clippings on her mirror, I wondered if I had the kink stylist as a few items showed nudes in various compromising and kinky position. We had some small talk, but not much. After she started cutting my locks off, I commented she is one of the few stylists I have met who has not spent at least 5 minutes trying to convince me that I just needed a trim because anything more than that would make me unhappy She chuckled, “oh, no – quite the opposite, I love cutting someone’s hair short – it’s a chance for change and fun and opportunity. How could anyone not like that?”
I realized soon after that I had given her more carte-blanche than I had intended in terms of how short to make it. She made it short. “Don’t worry,” she told me at one point, “this is going to look right – be wash and go like you like – and be fun to style when you want. Call it your summer look.” At this point, my hair was gone – my negotiations mistake was mine, not her’s – and it is just hair.
What little we did discuss, I found we had a similar upbringing in terms of hair. She and I were both tomboys when younger. We both ignored our hair until it was long and annoyed us (or our moms annoyed us with their insistence of up-keep), then we cut it incredibly short. “Oh, I get that, ” I told her, “my aunt would come into town to cut my brothers’ hair – and I would tell her just give me the same haircut. All the while, my mom would try to stop it but it was always too late.” I remember being Indigo’s age when I did that. I totally had the boy cut. Drove my mom crazy – but I loved it because it no longer required my mom to be involved in the morning hair brushing. She nodded her head while I spoke, “oh, yeah – that was me too.”
In the end, the haircut turned out to be what I needed. It’s short (chin length), it’s easy, it’s healthy feeling, and it takes some weight off of my shoulders.
I guess there is something philosophical to be gained from this exercise. Sometimes you need to cut out the dead feeling. Sometimes you need to get rid of the weight off of your shoulders. Sometimes you need to find healthy again.
Or the lesson is “get your haircut more often and you won’t have these issues as often”….
…..the universe is fickle in terms of its message sometimes….