Short Stories - non fiction

Hairy Subject


Every time I get my hair cut, when I walk in the door I say to my husband “I love my hairdresser”. To which he responds “You always say that.”

It’s true. I may very well have the best hairdresser in the world. Not only does she make my hair look better than any other hairdresser has been able to at this point in my life, but she is an absolute delight to talk to, and I always leave the salon feeling better than when I arrived. In case you are wondering who this person is, her name is Melanie Lebel and she works at Jask Spa in Kanata. I highly recommend her.

There is something about getting a haircut that makes me feel better. I am not quite sure why, but it gives me a real boost. I suppose it might have something to do with the fact that I don’t have very good hair to work with, it’s very thin, and dry, and when it gets too long it just flops. 

Whoever came up with the term “bad hair day” certainly was on to something. I have had more than my share of bad hair days. My hair doesn’t like wet weather, wind, or humidity. I can pretty much guarantee you that I will have a bad hair day during any of the aforementioned weather conditions. And God help me if you combine any of them. 

I don’t have a lot of hair, and it takes work to make it look presentable, so I do the best I can with it. There is a whole hair process that I go through to style my hair. When my hair is wet, I look really bad. My husband once described me with wet hair as “a giant earwig”. Nice. Then I blow dry my hair, that is “stage 2”. This is dry hair that has no style whatsoever, and just looks bad. If I walk around my house with blow dried unstyled hair, my family will often say to me “you aren’t going out like that are you?” For “stage 3” of the process, I spray it, curl it, gel it, fluff it, and spray it again. So you can imagine how frustrating it is when I walk outside and it’s windy and rainy out. All that work out the window.

I am also currently pretty happy with my current hair colour. I colour my hair and put highlights in it myself. However, I have had some disastrous hair colours. There was a time when I coloured my hair red, in an attempt to look like my son’s auburn hair. My hair didn’t quite turn out auburn though. My husband described the colour as “ketchup”. (Ketchup was not quite the look I was going for.) Another time I tried to go really blonde and I tried this hair colour called “blondism”. My hair was pretty much the colour of a yellow post it note. On that particular occasion I went straight to the drug store and found a less alarming colour to tone it down immediately. There was no living with blondism. 

Anyhow, in closing, if you find a great hairdresser that knows how to work with your hair, count your blessings. A hairdresser has the power to make you look your absolute best, who else holds that power over you? 

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