Shagged

My youngest, Becca, is enrolled in beauty school, and has been working at a local salon for the past couple of years as an assistant/cleaner-upper.  She'll graduate in September, take her state board exam, and start her bringing in her own clientele.  She has three "clients" now - her boyfriend, my boyfriend and yours truly.  Herein lies the problem...

Since she works in a salon, she's fortunate enough to get "hands-on" training from the owner, who I'll call "Cheyenne" for privacy's sake.  Cheyenne has been my stylist since Becca first started working for her, and I've been very happy with the way she's colored and styled my hair.  She's great...one of the best stylists in town.  But lately when I go for my appointment, Cheyenne decides it's high time to teach Becca a few tricks of the trade.  On me. 

Example:

This past Thursday, I had an appointment for a "trim".  Hair just needs shaping up - no color, no muss, no fuss.  Or so I thought.  Everything starts off routinely...Becca washes my hair, spending a little more time massaging my scalp (cuz I'm her mom and I deserve it) and I begin to relax - enjoying the pampering and winding down from a busy work day.  So far, so good.  Hair washed, conditioned, rinsed, toweled.  Begin Phase II.

Time for "the chair".  I'm led past the steam room, the massage table, the eucalyptus and incense rooms and on to the beautifully coiffured Cheyenne - who smiles at me with teeth so white I think surely they must glow in the dark.  "What are we doing today?" she asks as she kick-starts the chair hydraulics.

"It just needs shaping up, Chey.  The ends are straggly and the top is a little long.  Shouldn't take long..."  All the while I'm thinking to myself how nice it'll be to get out of there in under an hour for once. 

Cheyenne's thinking something quite different, however.  She's thinking this is the perfect time to teach Becca the shag.  Yes, I said shag.  Did you know it's made a comeback?  Uh huh, me either.  And this is where things begin to break down.

She has Becca standing on my right while she's standing on my left, barber scissors in hand.  "Now Becca I want you to watch.  And be sure to ask questions if you don't understand what I'm doing."  (hey! what about me?  Don't  I have to understand, too?)  Obviously not.  All that is required of me is that I sit still and not cross my legs (something to do with angles, she says...)

As she begins to snip here and there, she keeps telling Becca to watch how she's holding the scissors.  How she's pulling the hair back and not toward my face.  Then it's hands-on for Becca.  Practice, practice, practice!  Here a snip, there a snip, everywhere a snip snip.  Ohhh....then she pulls out the "special" scissors.  The $600 pair of scissors.  The ones for "special" cuts.  I have a lump in my throat.  She warns Becca to be veddy veddy careful with them.  They're S-H-A-R-P.  I'm nauseous.

It's over.  I'm shagged.  Shagged like I've never been shagged before.  Not only am I shaggy, I'm poofed.  Evidently, that's Becca's speciality.  Poofing.  Heaven help me.

I pay my $20, try not to run to the car, climb in and pull down the sun visor to get my first totally private look at my new do.  Digging in my purse for a brush, a comb, hell a toothpick even - but no luck.  There is no way out of Poofy Hell until I can make it home and find a brush.  Naturally, Scott's waiting to see me, and all I can mumble is the word "poofy" as I rush to the bathroom to find my saviour, my brush.

Thirty minutes later, Becca arrives home.  "How do you like Mom's hair, Scott???"  She's beaming.  She's a stylist.  She's a poof perfectionist and a shagging wannabe.  And soon she's going to be charging for her services.  Egads.  "It looks fine."  Fine.  Fine, fine, fine.  She and Cheyenne should be fined!

So here I am.  Shagged. 

"I hate doing that cut!" Becca confides later. "I can never do it the way Cheyenne does..."

5:27:22 PM     comment []

Stranded

Unbelievable!  I'm stranded at home lol.  All the main roads leading to the hospital are closed due to flooding, and every route I took led me to one barricade after another.  The traffic was terrible - everyone trying to get to their destinations and being detoured to yet another roadblock.  I spent 30 minutes trying to forge a path in my zippy little Grand Prix when normally it's only a 5 minute hop.  I was left with one option, and one option only.  Turn around and drive back home.  The only problem was...I was having a difficult time remembering exactly how I started out...yikes!  One thing I did learn was to not follow the traffic - they were all as clueless as I was.  I haven't seen water like this in a long long time, and can't remember the last time streets were closed in the middle of town.  Once I got back to the house, I called the office and was told several of my employees couldn't make it in either.  Two of them live in a neighboring county which suffered severe storm damage with trees downed and loss of power. The few brave souls who did manage to show up are worried about how they'll get home this afternoon.  Hopefully, the rain will let up and allow the water to receed soon, and maybe (just maybe) I'll brave it again.

UPDATE

The waters parted, and I was finally able to drive to work around lunchtime.  Arrived in the parking lot just in time to see a lightning bolt up close & personal.  I never knew I could jump that high. 

The sky is clearing now, and the worst seems to be over.

9:24:20 AM     comment []