How Fast Will it Grow Out??

Here's a beauty tip: Don't even think about using these on your hair. You can buy your very own -- for CUTICLES, people -- here. 

..::facepalm::..

I may have to go back into house arrest.

And this time, it would have nothing whatsoever to do with neutrophils, or white blood cells, or anything even remotely health-related at all.

No. I would confine myself to the house for an extended period of time for this go-around because.......well, because.....it's a long story, people.

So my day started out innocently enough yesterday when I pulled into the parking lot of my hair salon, thinking that I was there for just a trim.

A TRIM.

After a shampoo, having settled into the stylist's chair and relinquished my glasses, I squinted blindly at my beautician as she and I discussed the terrible shape my hair was in.

"Fried. To a crisp." she declared.

 Yep. It is. I agreed.

"What HAPPENED to your hair?"

Um. I guess I've just ignored it for at least ten months now. I haven't had it trimmed or anything since my daughter's wedding last fall.

"Tsk." She held up a hank of my frizzled, slightly greying hair and examined it critically. "It's beyond hope. Best thing to do is to just cut it."

Ok. (Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid thing to say.)

Thinking that we were going to stay basically with the same style, I settled back into the chair and closed my eyes. As she trimmed and cut and snipped and combed, we chatted and after a bit, she stepped back and viewed the back of my head with satisfaction.

"Better. Much better." she declared.

MmmmHmmmm. I opened one eye and saw a blob that looked somewhat like my head. I am so blind without my glasses. Great. I closed my eyes again.

This was my big mistake. Seriously.

Because at that point, after combing a section of damp hair over my eyes, she made a decided SNIP. Before I could say a thing......I had half of a set of bangs. Where before had been chin length hair that I had spent the past several years coaxing along inch by inch.

Yikes.

"Sit straight!"

Ok. What else could I say?? Half of my hair was gone. There was no return at this point. I shut my eyes again and thought that at this point in what was turning rapidly from a trim to a full blown hair CUT it probably wasn't in my best interests to say something rude like, WHAT THE HECK DID YOU JUST DO?! OH MY GAWD! I HAVE NO. HAIR. LEFT!

Or who knows what she might do to my remaining hair?

It turned out that there was plenty that she could do to what was left of my hair. After what seemed like forever, she whisked off my styling cape and handed me my glasses.

"Ta Da! Now isn't that better?"

Um.

I was speechless as I stared into the mirror. This was not what I had expected when I naively put my frizzy head of hair into this woman's hands. The Julia that stared back at me from the mirror had.......bangs that were too short and sproinged crazily from the cowlick located in the middle of my forehead. And.......not much hair except for a straggly strand in front of each ear which was approximately the length of my hair when I foolishly sat down and ASKED this person to do this to my hair. Well, kind of this. Actually, I ASKED this person for a trim. This certainly wasn't a trim. It was.......indescribable.

She smiled with satisfaction as she looked into the mirror at us both and patted the weirdo chunks of hair by my ears. "I kept the length here. I think some longer hair here is better for your shape of face."

I paid the bill in a daze and drove home not wanting to look at myself in Goldie's rear view mirror. I pulled into the garage and bolted for the bathroom, where I looked with dismay at the carnage that had been inflicted on my head.

It was choppy. And uneven. And......felt like someone had put a helmet on my head since she had sprayed half a can of hairspray on my unusual new 'do.

I couldn't think of anything productive or useful to do, so I headed to the couch for a nap. Getting my overgrown awful hairdo transformed into an even more awful choppy weirdo hairdo was hard work.

Later I worked up the courage to text Terese and share my disastrous experience with her. And, being the supportive and sensitive individual that she is, asked if I wanted her to bring a large paper bag home from the grocery store for me. Into which I could put my head. Until my hair grew back.

Gee, thanks, girlfriend.

When John came home from work, his eyes widened as he got a full frontal view of my new coiffure.

YES. I GOT CHOPPED AT MY HAIR APPOINTMENT.

He swallowed and smiled nervously. He knows what I'm like when these things happen, because of course these types of things seem to happen to dopey me all of the time.

"Honey. It looks.....kind of cute."

I really do have to give him an A for effort. Really. Poor guy.

 I kept returning to the bathroom mirror over the course of the evening hoping that by some miracle my hair would look vastly improved. Big surprise. It didn't.

I am so tempted to grab my cuticle scissors and attempt to even out some of the chunkier areas on my head, but here's what I've learned after more experiences like this than I care to admit: a cuticle scissors will only make matters worse. My plan is to wash and style this......hair.....of mine in the morning. If there's no improvement, I may have to take drastic action and plead for remedial help from yet another stylist.

But this time I'm leaving my glasses on.

Oh, John? Margaritas. Mango. Now. And keep 'em coming.....