Red The Blood of Angry (Wo)Men
For over twenty years, the same person has wrangled my tresses. Through my ex-husband-and-permanent-wave-phase. During my first flirtation with highlights. She suggested I would look smashing in “The Rachel,” and she applied the second layer of fake-blonde glow to my chocolate brown head.
I even let her take my aging tresses and dye them red, with such expertise that almost no one guesses that I wasn’t Born This Way.
My relationship with my stylist is almost like marriage. It is a sacred union, sanctified by the gods of scissors and the blow dryer and a big honking vat of color, and I am Happily Wed.
Imagine my dismay when I entered the Hallowed Halls of Hair Therapy yesterday to be greeted with the following:
Charmaine (yes, that really is my hair therapist’s name): “I have to be out for a month to six weeks for a thing, and someone else is going to have to do your hair. Who do you want?”
Me: speechlessohmygodwhatamigoingtodonobodyelsecantouchmyhairOHMYGOD!!!!!! “Um. What?”
Charmaine: “You’re going to have to get those roots done before I’m back from my thing, so who do you want? I can schedule you with anyone else today, but you need to decide now.”
Me: “I’ll come to your house if you’d do it.”
Charmaine: “Andra. REALLY. Come on. Anyone here will be fine. I will give them the formula. It will look just like I did it.”
Me: “But, you won’t have done it. SOMEBODY will know.”
Charmaine: “Nobody will know. Except you, and you don’t count.”
Me: “But…….But. I’m the only one who has to look in the mirror at it every day.”
Charmaine: “It will look just like I did it. I promise. Now, who?”
Me, shaking uncontrollably: “Whoever does yours.” ohmygodthisisgoingtobeaDISASTERwhatamigoingtodo??
And, so it is that I am staring down the barrel of having foreign hands in my hair. Another vision fondling my tresses. The possibility that my hair will be purple instead of red. Short instead of long. Fried instead of lightly steamed.
I. Am. Petrified.
Do you care who touches your hair? Am I being ridiculous? (DON’T answer that.)