Natterings by Nat Lauzon, as seen in The Monitor, 2009:
Some people can't seem to keep boyfriends. Or pets. Or even plants for that matter. Me? I can't keep a hairstylist.
I've been through no less than 6 of them in less than a decade. For one reason or another, they always end up leaving. I've heard it all: maternity leave (more like eternity leave when your roots are showing), a move, a firing, a career change. And then there's the non-reason - when you call to make an appointment and the receptionist tells you curtly that so and so just doesn't work there anymore. And she will not give you anything more than that. Not a crumb. No forwarding address. Cloaked in mystery. You almost feel bad for asking.
I ran into one of my former stylists on the street recently. I loved her. Every cut she gave me was perfection. She now teaches hairstyling. We caught up for a few moments and I asked if she ever (PLEASE!) did anyone's hair ((PULLLLLEEEEEASE!!!) on the side on her own time (FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, SAY YES!).
"No! I don't cut hair anymore - I looooooove teaching!"
I swear I felt my split ends splitting one more time.
I gotta say, I feel a bit rejected. I guess I thought we - my 6 hairstylists and I - had a good thing going. After all, hair is such a personal thing for people. If you find someone who treats it right and leaves you satisfied you eventually want to go back for another fix. In my cases, there was not even a discussion of breaking up. Ever. I'd like to think I'm a likable client. And frankly, I liked them right back. Even the one who, after my trim said, "Um, I think I went kinda scissor happy". I even liked her(and yes, she did).
It's just that finding a stylist you like and want to keep seeing is rare. And I speak from experience. I can't tell you how many times I've walked out of a salon making a beeline for home so I could "fix" my hair. I've lost count of how many times I've left places with a huge, poofy Dallas-inspired blow out. Scott always knows when I've had my hair cut because it's never me that walks through the door - it's Eric Carmen, circa 1981.
Here's a secret: after a few hit and misses, I finally found a new girl! It’s still in the honeymoon phase since I've only been to her once so far. But I loved the cut she gave me. And the price was amazing. And no, I'm not telling you who or where she is. She's mine, stay away. The best part is, she knows nothing about my history of somehow jinxing hairstylists. The most she’s going to know about my past is what I had for lunch.
I need this to be a new chapter for me - no baggage. I'll take it slow. And if she so much as hints about taking a vacation, I'll tackle her.