The Long And The Short Of It...

I've told the story of how I first met The World's Greatest Stylist And Life Coach many times on this blog.  She is a character as well as a fixture in my life so I guess it makes sense that she might put in an appearance on these pages every now and again.

Up until the spring of 2004, I was a lot like one of those people you see on any number of Make-Over shows.  You know the ones I mean.  You watch them go glibly through a gauntlet of humiliating and probably painful experiences in the name of beauty without batting so much as an eyelash.  However, when faced with the hair stylist, they begin whimpering and clinging to their five foot tresses like they are being asked to hand over their first born child.  We are all practically screaming at the screen for them to just let it go and submit to the scissors because we can tell from our vantage points on the sofa that it's the right thing to do.  And it always is.

I am one of those bellowing from the couch.  But, when it came to my own hair, I rarely let the stylist make the choices.  "Take off an inch and trim the bangs a smidgen," I'd demand as I sat myself down upon what I perceived to be my Throne Of Control.  No one in the hair industry ever questioned me.

Until I met The World's Greatest Stylist And Life Coach.  She was the only stylist available that day and I honestly didn't care who cut my hair.  Pretty much anyone could take off an inch of growth and trim the bangs, was my theory.  The WGSALC, however, is not just anyone.  She scoffed at my thoughts regarding my own appearance and bullied me mercilessly.  She is tiny.  Very tiny.  And she scared the holy heck out of me.  I let her do what she wanted.  I then spent the next two weeks being told that my hair had never looked better.  People who rarely spoke to me stopped to comment.  The clerk at the convenience store made me wait for my morning coffee because she had to get the "girls" out from the back to look at me.  And this wasn't even The Convenience Store Where They Call You Honey And Sweetie And You Sort Of Like That!  As God is my witness, I had an actual teenager comment favorably on it from her perch behind the counter at the video store.  

That was when I just accepted that I have absolutely no idea what to do with my hair and that it is best to let the professionals make those sorts of decisions.  Once monthly, I wander in at the appointed time and say humbly, "Do whatever you want."

In May of 2008, however, another voice chimed in.  SIL Sheep (who was, at the time, merely Future SIL Sheep) began gently pointing out that I would need to do something with my hair come November the first.  She had a little family event planned which would involve formal wear and whatnot.  The hair needed to go with.

At first I nodded absentmindedly and merely pretended that I was going to do something with my hair.  I guess I sort of assumed that Bridesmaid Hair just happened or something along those lines.  However, as summer approached and I began hearing the plans of the other bridesmaids in this wedding, I realized that my shaggy, layered tresses were not going to be nearly poofy enough to pass muster.  I was going to have to grow it out.

This matter was discussed with TWGSALC on several occasions and she agreed to hold back a bit with the scissors.  Thus began The Great Follicle Feat '08.  The hair grew and grew.  Every once in a while, I would try and do something with it, hoping fervently that it was now of a length conducive to the doing of things.  Mostly, it wasn't.  I waited and waited...

The day of the wedding arrived and I found that I was able to locate strands long enough to force into curly bits.  There was more engineering involved in this process than even bears discussing and the atmosphere has suffered mightily from the overuse of styling products on that day, I fear.  Sorry about that.  But the hair was done.  I had achieved Bridesmaid Hair, most curly and immobile!

This week, I have looked forward to the weekend with great anticipation.  There is no wedding to attend, no cute shoes to wear and nary a crumb of yummy chocolate cake with pretty roses on it to be found.  There was, however, an appointment with TWGSALC and a great deal of hair is now in a trash can somewhere on the premises of the salon.  I feel ten pounds lighter, I tellya!  

No need for pictures.  You've seen the hair before.  It's the same thing it always was before it needed to be done and had to be what it wasn't always except when it was because I hadn't met the WGSALC yet.  Just go find one of those other eight million posts where I talk about my stylist, my hair and how the world revolves around these sorts of things...

I love my stylist.  And she happens to love handknitted stuff so it is a truly symbiotic kind of relationship.  Once I finish off the "dishcloth with sleeves" and that Never Ending Scarf, I'm thinking her holiday gift will be next on the list.  She likes fingerless mitts a great deal.  I actually pulled out the patterns today to see which one she might like.  Those hands must be protected after all...

From my Pattern Perusing Perch, I had a nice view of the Absurdly Gi-normous Kitty and I realized something.  Even with the oddly warm temperatures that have settled upon us (I actually slept with the windows open last night, for crying out loud...) he seems to have developed something of a shaggy, winter-type coat.  And his napping position really doesn't seem to keep it quite as coiffed as he might like.

I wonder if The World's Greatest Stylist does cats...

SA