I Confess. I Cheated On My Hairdresser.

Look, the sad truth is I am a complex woman. I have NEEDS. And when I have a need, I like to have that need answered right away. Like, when I want a cookie, I want a cookie NOW. Not in a week. Or when I want Kealoha to rub my back and talk to me about lighting supplies so that I can fall asleep, I want him to do it right away.  

So when my son looked at the gray in my hair and shouted: “Stranger danger!” I knew I needed to get my hair done. AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. In this case, ‘as soon as possible’ meant NOW.

 

On Sunday, I emailed my salon. I checked my email frantically. Did my hair stylist check her messages from home? Did she get my message on her phone? Was she ignoring me? No. It was Sunday evening. I mean, it’s not like we were in a relationship or anything.

 

I waited until Monday.

 

Nothing! No answer. No response.

 

I waited until Tuesday…and still…nothing. What could I do? I had a NEED!

I called my old hair stylist. The one I’d left six months ago for the new. She was there. Waiting. She took my call. She made time for me. She could meet me in less than twelve hours. In twelve hours, I could stop scaring my son! I could be ten years younger!

I booked the appointment. An hour after I booked it, the stylist I’d originally wanted, called. She was sorry. She could fit me in. I was important to her. She’d do what she could. She was there for me! But not until Saturday.

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I ignored her call and this morning I sat in my old stylist’s chair.

“I haven’t seen you in a while,” she said. Was there a hint of menace or jealousy in her voice?

“Yeah. I’ve been…busy…” I said, my cheeks blushing. Did she know? Did she know how many colors the other hair stylist had tried on me? The different ways she’d…cut…my…hair?

 

She ran her hands through my hair. “Hmm.” I knew what that meant. “This is…cute. Looks like you had it done, what, six weeks ago?”

Oh, the drama! The subtext! We both knew the truth! I’d been seeing another stylist! Some other stylist had run her hands through my hair and had her way with me. What could I do? I had to admit the truth, because she could read the truth in my roots! “Yes,” I whispered. “I saw someone six weeks ago.”

She squeezed my shoulders. She understood. We would not speak of my…transgressions…but she let me know that she knew.

 

She shamed me.

 

She colored my roots. She remembered the way I like to part my hair. She showered me with adjectives on how young I look, and how she loves how my hair looks messy like it’s got attitude, and how she understands me.

 

And I enjoyed my time with her. I did! But still…I thought of the stylist I’d been seeing for the last six months. Imagined her in the salon wearing her black apron, listening to opera music, and crying because I’d done her wrong.

 

As I paid for the cut and color, the stylist looked at me and said, “So, do you want to schedule your next appointment?”

This was it. This was the moment. Who would I choose? Her…or the Other?

 

I lowered my eyes. “I’ll call you,” I said. She pursed her lips and turned away from me.

 

*

 

I’m so ashamed.

 

My needs were met, but at what price, I ask you? WHAT PRICE?

 

My hair is really cute though, and I feel much better.