Yesterday was my first haircut in ages. I generally have low-maintenance hair, and it doesn’t bother me if it’s longer than usual, but ever since I had kids, all I can see when I look in the mirror are the gray hairs sprouting here and there, so it drives me nuts if I don’t get in every 8 weeks. But it had been more like 11 weeks since my last appointment due to me having to reschedule, then my hairstylist having to reschedule and then forgetting that she had rescheduled me, which meant that she had to work me in among already-scheduled clients on a weekend. But I was just relieved to finally get in and address my gray hair problem at its roots.
When it came time for me to leave for my appointment, Dawdler Toddler insisted on coming along. I didn’t mind, though I did try to convince her going to the salon is not all that fun for her in that it’s loud, has strangers everywhere, and involves sitting and waiting a lot. In other words, her worst nightmare. But she wanted to come and who am I to say no to that cute little face? In the past, my stylist has said to bring her in with me to an appointment and she’d trim her hair & give her a cute little ‘do for no charge. I texted my stylist beforehand to check if it was okay if I brought her and she said of course! That’s one of the many reasons I like my stylist – she’s got a daughter the same age and understands the rigamarole of hauling a toddler around.
So Dawdler Toddler sat patiently while I got my hair colored (or “painted” as she said) and waited for the color to set, she sat patiently while my hair got trimmed, dried, and flat ironed. And then the heartbreaking part: we got escorted to the desk to pay “Thanks for coming! Here’s your next appointment!” As I mentioned, my stylist had to work me in among standing appointments, and so she had 2 or 3 other women to attend to and didn’t want to fall behind. So I get it – not having time to do a cute little do, but Dawdler Toddler was in tears. “That was supposed to be MY turn! What about my haircut?!”
I felt terrible. But, I told her, you’re getting older and with that comes some tough lessons. Like this is just the first of about a million times a stylist will disappoint the crap out of you, if my lifetime of experience is any predictor.