On your hairdresser.
It's been a while since I posted, but a lesson learned seemed like the appropriate time to start again. There is so much to catch up on after a quick trip to NY and a delightful summer holiday in the south of France. I will eventually get around to writing about our trip, perhaps when its a bit colder and I'm desperately missing the sun.
Back to cheating on your hairdresser.... HUGE MISTAKE. Why, when I already had found a lovely, slightly quirky, and perfectly good hairdresser (who happens to sport a handlebar mustache), would I venture elsewhere? I thought that mine seemed a bit trop cher, I could find one equally good, a bit less trendy, and get the same cut. And I wasn't trying somewhere random - it was recommended by someone living here a long time, and as long as I stuck to my cut and was armed with photos (and improved French) what could go wrong? Plenty. I had gotten very lucky when I found my hairdresser, on my first attempt to get a desperately needed haircut in France. I should have just been happy and thankful it hadn't been a disaster, and that he had given me some of the best cuts I've ever had. But couldn't someone else do the same and possible for a bit less? No. They couldn't. My first clue should have been that the 'mistress hairdresser' was a woman. Men always cut my hair better. I am now stuck with what is the second worst haircut I have ever had. I initially thought it was the worst, but upon thinking, I remember that trip to the hairdresser when I was 17, the day before our Senior photos that left me running of the stairs of my parents house in tears, sticking my head under the faucet. So it wasn't quite that bad, but bad enough. There were no tears, and I'm very aware that it will grow back, and I can just about keep my hair pulled back until it grows. I think the worst part is that I know have to walk very sheepishly past my normal hairdresser, which happens to be on the street we live, everyday. It is the route to the market, many shops, and the way Lily likes to walk...there is no avoiding it. I can't help but try to stay fixated on my phone as I pass, making sure to cross over to the other side of the street, hoping he doesn't see me, because quite frankly, I cheated. That, and it only ended up being about 8 euros less.
