my confession

I have been seeing the same hair stylist for a number of years now. His name is Joe and he is a big, burly guy with hands as big a frying pans and a personality to match. When I first went to see him, I was impressed with his confidence.

He has been doing hair now for over 40 years and he is GOOD! If I say I want a cut- he cuts my hair. If I ask him to do amazing things with color, he can do it. The bottles he uses to spray stuff on my hair are crushed flat because he holds them in his fist and uses his thumb to pump. Joe is probably an aggressive hairdresser; something I appreciate. I was always put off by skinny girls who were afraid to cut more than a centimeter at a time (in case I didn't like it). I'm almost fifty. If there's one thing I've learned is that even the worst haircut ever only needs about two weeks.

But here's the thing. I have fine hair; wispy and soft as the day I sprouted it. And when my bangs get too long I can't stand it. They flop in my face and get in the way. I think my bangs can even give me a headache when they are too long.

This is my confession: Over the years, I have often cut my own bangs between haircuts. It started when the skinny girls would never cut my bangs any shorter. I'd be in the chair and I'd say, "Could you cut the bangs a litle shorter, please?" Invariably the reply would be something to the effect that it wouldn't look good any shorter or I wouldn't really like them any shorter. So I'd walk out with my bangs too long and I KNEW even before I was out of the salon that I would have to cut them myself.

When I started seeing Joe I asked him to cut them a little shorter. He said if he cut them shorter they'd be TOO SHORT. The first few times, he was ok with it and he cut them too short for me. (because he's NOT afraid to cut) But when I started asking him to cut my bangs too short as a matter of the haircut: "just a little off the back and please cut my bangs too short", he put his foot down.

"I won't cut them too short but if they get too long before your next haircut, just walk in and I'll trim them; I promise."

Well that's entirely too easy and my life is too hectic and it would get to the point where I would say to myself I had to drop by the salon for Joe to trim my bangs but I would never really get there and then my bangs would be too long and then:

I WOULD CUT MY OWN HAIR!

At first I tried to play it dumb when Joe would ask if I'd cut my own hair..."uh, I can't remember."

Then I lied..."I had someone else trim it for me."

When he persisted in harassing me about it, I would explain..." I HAD to; it was an emergency and I couldn't come see you."

Finally, it got to where he'd simply ask "WHEN did you last cut your own hair?"

I thought things were going well, that Joe and I understood each other and that he had come to accept that I cut my own hair every once in a while. But the last time I went to see Joe he announced, " I won't do your hair anymore if you keep cutting it yourself." That's all he said and I panicked. I wasn't ready to start all over again with another hairdresser and I knew deep down I'd never find anyone as confident or talented as Joe.

So last week Wednesday when I got out of the shower and pulled out my special purchase "tweezerman" haircutting scissors I struggled with how I might explain it to Joe this time. And I couldn't think of anything he'd believe so I dried my hair, got dressed for work and drove over to the salon.

I walked in... Joe dropped everything he was doing and he cut my bangs! Go figure.