A couple of months ago I had my hair all chopped off. Ah, the freedom! I love it. So do a lot of other people. I keep getting asked where I got it done, and I gladly tell all and sundry. I'm helpful like that.
Anyway, today I was in my LYS (knitting speak for 'local yarn store') when the proprietor commented again on how much she likes my hair cut. I had it trimmed even shorter than normal the other day, and personally I'm still getting used to how spiky it is. Anyway, Cathy liked it and said so and asked again where I got it done.
Charmaine, 'Salon Hystyle' between the Cheesecake Shop and the chainsaw store.
'Have you had a colour put in?' asked another customer listening in on our conversation.
'Ah. No. That would be my original highlights,' I replied.
'No offence,' she said, ' just that my hair is very thick and I have a clump of grey right here and none of the hairdressers I've been to really do what I want, and...'
'Charmaine's your lady then,' I enthused. 'She reads hair. She knows all my crazy cow licks and crowns and cuts to them. She's brilliant.' (As I said, always helpful.)
'And how do I get your cut?' she asked.
'Just say you've been talking to Cecily,' I answered, although to be honest, that seems rather pointless. The woman's hair didn't look that much like mine at all. She needs a cut for her hair, not a carbon copy of mine.
Anyway, with that, Cathy wrote down the salon details on one of her own business cards and the other customer declared she would let the dye grow out and try original highlights too, and I walked out feeling fantastic because not only do people like my hair, they want to copy
it, which is surely the pinnacle of hair-dom-ness. At this rate I shall be up there with Mary Kostakidis
and her uber grey coolness in no time.