Hair salon love

Photo courtesy of I don't know where

Dear Malstrom Salon,

It's been nearly eight years since I had to leave you.
I didn't want to, but the job made us move. You know a girl would never willingly leave her one and only hair guru.

I've looked for others but they have not quite measured up. When I sit down to wait for my appointment no one pours me a pop to drink and heaps magazines onto my lap. No one gives me a scalp massage with seductive, mind-soothing and stress-relieving aromatherapy oils. No one schedules my Ricks college gal, Tracy, at the same time in the salon so we can have a mini-reunion. But, I guess she would need to live here to do that...

Since I left, I went to a stylist once in Maryland with 3 inch fingernails. She couldn't hold the scissors properly because of them. Instead of using a comb to perfectly section out my hair, she'd use her nails and my hair kept getting caught in them; making me really mad. I was afraid to say anything because I figured it was akin to complaining in a fast food restaurant. Who knows what she would have done to my hair. She wouldn't have been able to hear me complain over her singing anyway.

In South Carolina it wasn't much better. There I learned that you never get your hair cut by someone who is older than your mom. Besides being subjected to menopause stories, the stylist suggested the Dorothy Hamill wedge would suit me nicely. Sure, if I were 10 years old.

I tried another place in Georgia which I thought looked promising. It figured that my name was called by the stylist who was not yet licensed. I learned this because she and the boss talked to each other the whole time. The boss said the stylist was going to get her sued if she kept messing up people's hair.
Note to self: never let anyone cut my hair who looks likes Joe Dirt.

She would have been a great candidate for Split Ends, though. Love that show.

I did find a girl here who actually does a good job. I told her of my hair cutting woes and she promised to end my search.
She passed my scrutiny but I stop short of letting her dry it. I did let her once but I came out sporting "mom hair" which is the cranial equivalent to wearing mom jeans.

It's all good though, you taught me your drying techniques well.

Now if I can just find local Aveda products, I'd be set. (no pun intended.)

(For those lucky enough to be in the vicinity of Malstrom Salon, call and ask for Chris or Tricia. Your hair will be your new BFF.)