It grew out really fast, though, and so I made an appointment with my new fabulous hairdresser, for she truly was fabulous, but I missed that appointment, because I had a terrible cold. She said that she would definitely be available to cut my hair before I spoke at Mom 2.0 Summit and to call when I was feeling better, but when I called, she didn't call back.
And then I called again, but she didn't call back again.
And then I called a third time, and I left a message that said: "I know this is, like, the third call in six hours, but I'm really nervous about this conference, and I love what you did with my hair."
And then I called a fourth time, and I left a message that said: "Hi, I'm that person who called three times yesterday. I swear I'm not crazy. I just really like you and what you did with my hair. And you said you'd cut it before I left."
And then I called a fifth time, and I left a message that said: "So, yeah, it's me again. At this point, I am that crazy client you are trying to avoid. I get that. But would you still cut my hair? I'm really nervous about this conference. Did I tell you that I'm really nervous about this conference? Because I'm really nervous about this conference."
And then I called a sixth time, and I left a message that said: "Wow, six messages in only two days. This is some kind of record. Call me!"
At this point, I was wishing I could break up with me as a client.
Cue day three.
I called a seventh time, and I left a message in this faux-breezy, we're-nearly-best-friends, familiar voice that said: "Wow! Crazy, huh? It's me again. I leave for my conference tomorrow, so if you can fit me in at all, that'd be great. I swear I'm not a stalker. Or weird. Okay, I might be weird, but I'm not stalking you, I swear it. I really swear it. Later!"
And then, I walked down to the hair salon to see if she was there, because that's totally what non-stalkers do.
Thankfully, she wasn't there, and thankfully she had been away for a few days, which explained the lack of returned calls, and probably the lack of a restraining order, so I got my hair cut by someone else who had a chair free at the salon. The cut wasn't really what the first hairdresser had done, but it sufficed for my trip.
It has now been more than a month since then, and my hair was really showing it this morning.
I knew I had to get it cut, but the only person who cuts it the way I like probably thinks I am a giant freak of a client who must be avoided at all costs, so I didn't want to try calling her again. What to do? What to do?
I used to do this kind of thing all the time, remember?
Plus, it's totally a normal thing to harrass a hairdresser through a series of phone calls in which you claim to be sane and also not stalking her, and then to decide to shave off all of your hair with clippers rather than face her again so you can have cool hair.
I chose the thickest attachment I could find in our clippers box, threw the switch, and buzzed all of my old cool haircut off.
I ended up clippering off a lot of hair, and I didn't resolve my shame issues, and they probably have a picture of me up at the salon as a warning to the other hairdressers, but I think everything turned out surprisingly alright. At least, I think I can leave the house without looking all shaggy and dishevelled.
The downside of this clippers decision, though, is that I was all hyped to be the kind of person who looked like she paid for her haircuts again, and now I've reverted to home-jobby buzzcuts.
Anyone know how to convince a person who hardly knows you that you are, in fact, totally sane, despite all evidence to the contrary?
* The title of this entry is a play on the seven-note musical couplet shave and a haircut, two bits!