will WE play in Peoria?

So I went and got my haircut again this morning. I’m still not sure if I like it or not. I guess the real test comes tomorrow when I wash it and have to fix it myself.

It started out well enough. The woman who seems to be the salon’s owner wasn’t there when I walked in. So, without thinking, I agreed to let a woman I’d never even seen before color my hair. She speaks no English. If she does, she spoke none to me. She tried politely to hold some sort of conversation with me, asking where in the US I’m from, why I’m living here, do I have any children. She told me that she had no trouble understanding me; I think that was a compliment to the way I pronounce the little French I know to say. Or, I’m telling myself that.

After a little while the owner arrived. When she saw me she greeted me and shook my hand. I think that means I’m an official regular customer now.

I can’t read the magazines in the shop and while someone is glopping goo on one’s head, it’s best to not try to concentrate on a book (I’d brought one for the sitting-and-waiting portion of coloring). I can look at pictures. And the more pictures of crazy haircuts I looked at, the more likely it was I’d find something I thought was cute. I did. Then I completely lost my mind and pointed at the pictures for the hairstylist.

After she washed my hair, she put me in a different chair so that the owner could do the actual cutting. Apparently, only the owner actually cuts hair unless the client is a kid, then any old person can do it. I felt a little relieved because this owner woman didn’t see me pointing out any pictures. She’d left for coffee and had just returned. (I swear, a customer came in and had the woman dry her hair in exchange for a cafe.) But before I could say anything, the hair-color-woman rushed over with the pictures to help out. Gee, thanks. Next thing I know, hair is flying all over the place and all I can think is “Bill is not going to be happy” and “Maybe I can find a nice fall hat to wear.”

When the scissors finally stopped, I thought “that’s not so bad.” But it is short. And I’m just not sure what I think now. But if I decide I don’t like it, I think I’m going to have to figure out how to find another hairstylist. I wonder if that woman who speaks English who I haven’t been to in a year would remember me?

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