A Hairy Situation

“Eeek! I’ve gone skunk!” wailed my part!

“I prefer to compare myself to Helen Mirren,” my temples countered with a distinguished tone.

Skunk or Mirren either way I wished my graying roots and streaked temples had phoned for a hair appointment, because I had forgotten.

Now it was too late!

Kim, my uptown stylist, in the midst of remodeling her downstairs salon wouldn’t take my plea for a last minute appointment. It would be weeks before she could see me, or more importantly my hair!

I’d have to drag my untouched sagging locks to an unfamiliar shop- a storefront with check in receptionists and shampoo girls instead of Kim’s cul-de-sac home with a Great Dane.

After surfing online, I caught the salon wave with the most prominent ad and exotic name- Mario’s.

A Mario minion answered the phone. The conversation went something like this:

Mario Minion: Mario’s may I help you?

Me: Yes, I need a cut and color.

MM: At which location?

Me: Crystal Lake (This was the easiest question to answer.)

MM: What kind of color do you need?

Me: The kind that colors the gray. Kind of a brownish color – no pastels!

MM: That’s for you and your colorist to decide. What I mean is do you need all over color, highlights, foils?

Me: I remember foil being all over my head. Does that help?

MM: (With an exasperated sigh) I’ll schedule you with Chloe for all over highlight foils. That will be half-bazillion dollars. Is that acceptable?

Me: (With a catch in my voice) Sure, half-bazillion dollars sounds reasonable.

 

Upon arrival, a black clad Marioian receptionist passed me off to an equally black clad colorist, Chloe.

Chloe Colorist asked even harder questions than the Mario Minion.

 

Chloe Colorist: (Fingering my hair in an analytic manner) Baby highlights, an allover toner, painting the ends in a balayage style. That should do it.

Me: So did balayage originate from Bali? (I couldn’t pull off a crown of silk orchids woven through my hair island style.)

CC: (Stifling a chuckle) Nothing to do with Bali. Balayage is a modified Ombre.

 

Me: (Hoping that she didn’t mean Paul Newman’s movie, “The Hombre” and pretending that I knew what she meant) Oh! An Ombre! Sure, sounds good.

CC: A balyage is a bit more expensive. It runs about ¾ bazillion dollars. I’ll mix the colors if that’s ok.

Me: (Thinking there’s more than one color?) Sure, I’m in!

 

 

Four pots of dye, a roll of aluminum foil, and forty minutes later I’m passed off to the black clad shampoo girl who passes me off to the equally black clad stylist, Bianca. By this time, sick of difficult questions, I made my requests clear.

 

Me: I want it perkier, off my face, and long enough to tuck behind my ears.

Bianca Stylist: No layers? No framing?

Me: Do I have either now?

BS: I see a bit of framing.

Me: As long as the framing doesn’t fall in my eyes when I workout.

BS: I’ll trim about an inch.

 

An even bazillion dollars and twenty-five minutes later, I’m looking good and out the door.

I look good when I leave Kim’s cul-de-sac basement salon, too, and she doesn’t ask hard questions.

I text Kim from Mario’s parking lot.

GOOD MORNING, KIM. I’M NOT SURE HOW FAR AHEAD YOU SCHEDULE, BUT WHAT DO YOU HAVE OPEN THE WEEK OF APRIL 23^RD.

I learned my lesson . . . and it was an expensive one!