There is only the kind of love that a woman can give you (or a man depending what you’re into).
Yeah! You know what I am talking about!
You know, you’re in your bathroom, getting ready, messing with your hair, and then it hits you.
You need to call her/him.
So you do. You make that special appointment.
You wait… arranging all other appointments around “the special one”.
You wait for that day where after wards you will feel so good.
Or you’re like me feeling spontaneously getting the urge and go on the hunt for that fix.
Cause I have been with out so long. Last time was I believe in 2008. I know, right. So I needed it. Badly.
Luckily for me, it was just around the corner.
So I went, waited for my turn, and I got a hair cut.
I don’t want to even know what you were thinking. Or wait maybe I do.
Anyways, its been way too long. I wanted to dye my hair but knew I better get a haircut before I did. I knew that no matter where I went my hair was gonna coming out looking like shit. Hair stylists never listen to me. They refuse to listen to me. They ask me what I want and I can see they are already planning their own thing. Cause we are all their sculpting pieces, I guess. Those fuckers!
However, at the point that I was, I really couldn’t give a shit. I am sure whatever they did would look a lot better than the hot mess I was wearing.
First off, it was very windy that day so my hair was very tangled. Poor lady probably thought I did that on purpose.
She literally was tearing my hair apart. She kept apologizing but I was like eh no problem. Welcome to my world lady. She was getting on my nerves after awhile. Just fucking grab a brush and do it harder! At this rate, I’ll break every motherfucking comb you got!
So while she was chain-sawing my hair to pieces I gave her small talk. I always do. I feel bad for them just standing there. Plus it avoids them thinking what a train wreck my hair is. However that didn’t stop the woman.
All she kept saying was, “Your hair is dead. Dead dead dead!”
Ok I get it. I know I suck.
“See that all on the floor? Thats all dead. Dead dead dead!”
Bitch, would you like to see my fucking messy house now? Oh I failed the math portion entry exam to college. You wanna talk about that too?!
“What do you do to your hair?”
Bitch wanted honesty. So I gave her honesty!
“I don’t so shit to it. I blow dry and sometimes run a curling iron through it. Other than that I don’t do shit. I don’t put mouse on it, special conditioners, hair spray. Nothing! Hell I don’t even put that damn thing in a pony tail! I wash it, dry it, comb and that’s about it!”
“I know you said that a hundred times. Now are you gonna fix it or not?”
So she cut it and moved my bangs to the side and all within 15 minutes she was done and I looked…. hawttt!
“What the hell did you do?! I look … damn I would so do me right now!”
She laughed, “I cut your dead hair off. All two inches. Gave you layers and combed your bangs to the side. That’s it.”
I paid her left and took another look at myself in the mirror. Wow. I looked freaking different. Now I know why women cherish their hair appointments. For this fucking feeling. This wonderful-look-at-me-now-stopping-traffic-feeling.
I thought about going back inside and giving her a big kiss. However I think I weirded her out enough.
I don’t know how to break this to the hubby, but I think I am love with that old mexican lady that styled my hair. If she can cook like Gus, dear god pray for us all!
Can I get a haircut everyday?