So, okay, sometimes I’m such a girl.
I’m been under a lot of stress lately and I just wanted to do something new, something different, something unique, startling…and so I decided to do something to my hair. Sick, huh?
This morning I stopped by Curl Up and Dye — not a bad place, considering how I’ve been feeling — and spent an hour looking over all the hair styles in their magazines. You know, if my hair would actually look like the pictures, I’d be happy. But whatever I do, it’ll last for a day, and the next morning I’ll look more wretched then ever. Like that parable, where the one demon leaves, but brings back seven more the next day.
I know I don’t want to cut it too short. There’s no need to focus the attention on my round face.
The weird thing is, though, I’m trying to imagine how I would look with hair covering half my face when someone calls my name. When I look up, I see who’s calling me, but I can’t figure out who she is. But she obviously knows me.
“Hey, Britney. Hey, it’s me, Beth. Remember, from middle school? How’ve you been? I haven’t seen you in ages!”
You have to understand. I did have a few close friends before I went off to boarding school. Beth wasn’t one of them. I mean, I went to her house a few times, mostly for birthday parties, and I might have helped her with her math a few times, but we hardly knew each other.
“Yeah, I’m doing fine.”
And she begins to grill me. Where have I been? What have I been doing? Any boyfriend? I mean, it’s like she’s been waiting to see me for months. I do a crappy job answering, using monosyllables whenever possible. I should have asked her some questions, too, but I couldn’t think of anything at the time.
“So, what do you want done to your hair?”
I close the magazine and shrug. “I don’t know. Something.” I lean forward and look sidelong at my flat hair.
She walks behind my seat and begins to pull my hair into strands like she’s going to braid it, but she seems just to be playing with it. “If you want, I’ll do it for you. I don’t have any times open today, but tomorrow afternoon’s open.”
“You work here?” Dumb question.
“I took cosmetology last two years. Got my license in the spring.” She let go of my hair and walked behind the counter. “How about two o’clock tomorrow?”
“Sure.”
The door opened, and Beth greeted the old lady who entered and said she was ready for her. She waved me bye.
I don’t know. It’s just…weird, to be so friendly. They must teach them that at cosemtology school.