Go ahead my dear, CUT!

551558_10200604721870730_1273888413_nSometime after the last sip of Pike Place Roast and before crossing the street, I declared to my sweet BF that it had to go. The long blonde locks. The daily battle with monster round brush. Kettlebell-heavy industrial weight blowdryer. Comb-out torture. Wrestle-fest with flat-iron, curling-iron, goopy goo to straighten, curl, tame, only to end up tying it all back in a ponytail after complete resignation. I was DONE with the two-year, “hey baby let’s try growing it out!” hair experiment.

Time for a new formula.

So down the street and into the salon we went, chosen solely by awesome curb appeal and great-lookin’ babes with fab dos flitting in and out. Nice receptionist greeted me, BF settled into a cushy sofa (knowing full well my little ‘consultation’ time frame would likely be the equivalent of two final quarters of the big game – timeouts and commercials included), and my soon-to-be stylist welcomed me over to the consultation area.

“We lookin’ for a little trim and touch-up today?” my sweet young stylist chirped.

“Um, no. I want it gone. Cut short. A totally new look.”


I think I totally spooked my stylist, who spent the next twenty minutes suggesting (actually, pleading) we take this process in “baby steps”. You know, an inch and a little layering today, let’s get to know each other a bit, and over the next few appointments we’ll work toward a shorter look.

She was convincing. I left the salon at approximately noon, BF happily ready to go from salon divan to home media room couch, with an appointment to return two hours later. I honestly thought, after our consultation, that I’d be back for a little trim and layering. A sensible approach to my new look, however the hell long that would take (4 appointments later? 5??)

But yours truly is rarely sensible. Within minutes of leaving, I knew that once back in the chair, it would be my turn to be convincing. The tables (or vanities, in the case) had to be turned. I needed to convince my new girl to get out the scissors and CUT.

Bless her heart, with a look of dread at first snip on her face, she did. Cut off a good six inches and gave me a whole new look that I am beyond thrilled with.

Now what to do with that dryer. Think I’ll add it to the BF’s home gym set.


One thought on “Go ahead my dear, CUT!

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