But some portion of the conversation in which I detailed my wishes sounded to her like, "Billy Ray Cyrus" and the resultant haircut was too short in the front and way-way-way too long in the back. By the time I realized her mistake and had driven back by to have it corrected, she was long gone and the salon was sealed up tight. Until Tuesday.
I sought out Muffin Uptown to see her reaction. The look on her face was anything but hopeful as she flooffed at and otherwise tried to manipulate what was left of my hair. "Maybe you can get an appointment with someone else to fix it on Monday," she said. But what do you think it means that her criticism was aimed entirely at that portion of the haircut I had actually paid for?
It was at that point that it dawned on me that I had, many times, paid money for worse. Every woman knows that some of the bitterest tears ever shed are those wept over an unfortunate haircut. But aside from having wasted one of the good curse words, I just haven't been able to work up that much of an I-care. It's just hair. I've got lots of it. Everywhere.
It looks like crying over having done a stupid thing may have gone the way of my good judgement. Which is good, I guess. It probably wouldn't do to have one without the other.