It's not very often that I actually pay to have my hair cut. (I usually cut it myself.) But with Via Colori this weekend, my 48th birthday on Sunday, and family in town for Thanksgiving next week, I though it high time to treat myself to a professional cut. I made an appointment for today at noon.
At noon on the dot, I knocked on the door, which might seem unusual except for the fact that I get my hair cut at the hairdresser's house. She's quite wonderful, creative, full of exuberance, and very much a free spirit. From inside the house, I hear a stream of expletives as she stumbled her way to the door. Another expletive as she opened the door, and a quick apology. She had forgotten our appointment. On top of that, she had had a very bad day, and looked it. It was only noon.
She suggested that her highly charged emotional state might not be in my best interest as far as a hair cut was concerned. Would I mind coming back tomorrow? Same time? I halfway thought that it would be fine if she cut my hair anyway. After all, I had scheduled my day accordingly. Then I asked what had happened that morning that was so distressing. She told me. It's seriously messed up and complicated. Her idea of rescheduling seemed both good and bad. Do I really want to go back tomorrow? Will she be able to pull herself together? When she's at the top of her game, she's awesome. But there are several extenuating circumstances in her life right now that might not make getting a hair cut from her at this moment such a good idea....
Thinking back on the handful of times she's cut my hair and it looked great, I'm actually considering it. Bless her heart. Mine, too.