Saturday, February 7, 2009

Hairy Situation



I like to think that I'm reasonably assertive, but...

Yesterday I had my hair done. I've been going to the same salon for...let's say only my hairdresser knows for sure. But, see, that's the problem. My hairdresser sold the salon and I inherited another hairdresser and things haven't been quite the same since.

First there was the incident of the red hair. I like a few subtle red highlights in my mostly blonde hair. Subtle to me is not...magenta. It's not mahogany. It's not fire engine red. And it doesn't come in chunks. I'm not a chunky girl. Not willingly, anyway.

Okay, so...no more red because me and my stylist just couldn't seem to get on the same color wheel.

Then there was the cut. I currently -- wear it in a A-shaped layered thingie. At least...I would if I could get my stylist to cut it that way again. She did it once, beautifully, but after that...

Not so much.

In fact, she has this thing where she only cuts my hair every other visit. You can't do that with short hair -- you loose the shape. Even I know that, and I am (according to the sibs) hair impaired. So...with the eight weeks between hair cuts, the A-shape grows quickly into a standard bob, and I will be darned if (in six months) I can get my stylist to give me my haircut back.

Yesterday I went in WITH A PHOTO to try and prompt her memory. She looked at the photo and said, "That's practically the cut you have."

Why, yes! Yes, you're catching on now, Ms. M.

Apparently she doesn't subscribe to that a-miss-is-as-good-as-a-mile theory because she never glanced at the photo again, and guess what? She gave me the same exact cut she gave me for the past six months.

And what did I say to her?

Nothing.

Because I am gutless, not assertive. I sat there fuming and tried to picture saying that this wasn't what I wanted. That I didn't want to pay for this. Never in a million years was that going to happen. So then I tried to picture myself saying I would call and let them know when I wanted my next appointment, rather than letting her schedule it for me.

But when the time came I meekly stood there and let her schedule the appointment.

I won't keep it though. When the time comes I'll call and say I'm sick and then I'll call back and let her know when I want to re-schedule. PATHETIC, I know.

How about you? Do you speak up when you don't like something? Do you send food back to the kitchen? Do you tell your hair dresser, mais non, madame!?