I loved getting my hair done. It was my time. I'd sit there and read all the magazines I didn't make time for before, have my coffee in their nicely designed ceramic mugs, listen to Daren's funny stories and (this is the best part) would come out "looking like a princess" according to my my daughter... and me, too.
So when it came time to go get my hair and my soul their tune-up, I tried to be mindful of the choices.
I stalled. I asked people for referrals. I looked around in efforts to find curly heads, thinking that's the best referral. Eventually my roots showed so brightly I had to do it.
I went to the Little Towne salon, located smack dub in the center of Little Towne down town. My husband told me it looked clean, big, with healthy traffic.
The receptionist was nice, made an appointment for later (good, they're busy) and assigned me to their colorist (a specialist! how lovely).
I came at the appointed time, set at the waiting area and hooked up with a magazine, all happy and ready for a treat. The hairdresser (HD) came while on her way to bill the previous customer and consulted with me about my expectations and needs. Half way through she left me standing, attending to her previous customer. I could have left than. "Be patient" I said to myself.
She came back eventually, gave me a smock and we headed towards her station. The station and its surrounding were still full of hair cuttings from the previous client. "They'll soon clean it" I said to myself. "Think of it as a good sign, it means she's busy!" I thought.
I told HD how Daren (my California hairdresser, funny, professional, great with curls) did my highlights so she took her tufts-of-hair chart and aimed to match color.
The conversation was pleasant, no highlights (even though we talked about it), no foil, no heat, a different person had to stop her lunch to wash my hair - washing machine style, tried to erase all the shady spots from my forehead - old painter style, no scalp massage, yes arm pit and food odors.
When trying to blow dry my hair without a diffuser I decided to stop the experiment and go home to attempt it myself, especially when costs climbed to the almost-double-what-I-used-to-pay for the pleasure at Daren's.
My hair doesn't look awful but it doesn't look good either. It starts off with some spotted souvenirs on my forehead, the roots are my natural color and the rest of it is a careful weave of highlights, in memory of Daren Days.