My sister-in-law is a hair stylist. Let me also preface this with the fact that she has been a stylist for some time now and this is an old story that I am telling because it makes my sister-in-law laugh until she is crying because only up until this year, 2012, did I confess to her what truly happened that day.
When she was first in Cosmetology school, which was over ten years ago now, she needed to have people come in and get their hair cut so she could be graded. This was before she was technically my sister-in-law because Brett and I wouldn't be married until the next summer. I had never been afraid of getting my hair cut because my mantra was always, "it will grow back!" Just take a look at my senior year of high school cheerleading pictures. Eek. Anyhoo, Brett was a little worried about me letting her cut my hair and kept asking me if I was sure if I wanted to let her do this. I had longer hair, past my shoulders and told him, "it will be fine! It will grow back!"
So, I happily agree to let her cut my hair and we set a date and time. I remember having to request a half day of vacation that day because I commuted to DSM for work at the time. My appointment was at 11. I was thinking that I would go, get my hair cut and have a couple hours to burn doing something fun afterwards. I can't recall if it was before Christmas or right before New Year's that this appointment was in the books. Either way, it was December.
I arrive at the appointment, get my hair washed and conditioned. I sit down in the chair and tell her that I think a shorter cut, right about shoulder length would be good. Nothing fancy because I'm a wash and wear type of gal. She gets to cutting. And she cuts. And cuts. And cuts. No, she's not cutting off a lot, she's just extremely slow because she is just learning how to do all of this stuff. No biggie. Two and a half hours go by and she finally starts to finish up and begins to style it.
As she styles it, I try not to stare at what has become of my hair. There really is no turning back now. She styles and has to cut a couple more strands to even things up. She goes and gets her instructor for her to take a look at the finished product.
Instructor to me: Looks nice! Do you like it?
Me: YES! It is SO COOL! I LOVE IT!!! (yes, I was enthusiastic and genuine about it because, after all, this was my future sister in law's future career and did I mention my future sister in law?)
Instructor: Yes! It is a GREAT holiday cut.
Me: Umm hmm! (with a smile)
Okay, when I went in there, my hair was long, layered and easy to manage. When I left there, my hair was cut like a bell. Yes, a bell. Like the Liberty Bell. It was a little longer than chin length and it flipped up hardcore. Over three hours in the salon, too!!
When Brett came home and saw what had become of my experience at the salon with his sister, he encouraged me to tell her that she should fix it. I told him there was no way in hell I was going to say a thing to her because she was so nervous and trying so hard that I wasn't going to say a word. Plus, there was really nothing she could do to fix it at this time. Only time would prove to be the best thing to fix this. I wore the bell. I wore the Liberty Bell until it grew out. I didn't let my sister-in-law cut my hair again until she graduated. She asked a couple of times and I kindly said, "I would be happy to let you cut my hair when you are done with school!" She wasn't a fan of that answer.
It is 2012 and I finally tell my sister-in-law why I wouldn't let her cut my hair again. She laughed so hard and couldn't believe I sported the Liberty Bell until it grew out and I never told her that I didn't like it. The things we do for love. This is the same sister-in-law that I had to enlist to help me "fix" the unfixable when I had to cut a chunk of my hair out due to the lemon sucker slapped in my hair (refer to previous post regarding taking Ty to the doctor). I am still growing that gem out. It's hot. Really hot.
Signing off for now, to all of you near and far and to those of you that have had a bad haircut or two in your lifetime, until next time. . .
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