The Hairdresser

I hate going to the hairdresser. I always did and probably always will. I hate the feeling of a stranger ravaging on my head and torture my ears with conversations I could not care less. The same way like I hate how they usually blow and dry the hair making you leave the salon wearing a humongous mushroom on your head.
Only recently, I found a place that makes my hairdresser ‘s visits more pleasant. I always ask for Miss M. She knows my hair by now, she is not that chatty and most of all if I say “no mushroom” she won’t blow and dries my head like there is no tomorrow.
The salon is around the corner from the girls’ primary school, that is perfect because I can go and they can join me after school and have their hair trimmed too.
Daughter number two is fine with it. To her, the hairdresser is a form of pampering.
Daughter number one, instead, inherited my hate for it.
Up to some years ago, I used to cut their hair myself, but since they started school, I felt they needed a professional doing it.
Exception made for those emergency situations when some slime got glued on their hair, or the knots were so hard to brush that chopping the entire tuft of hair was much easier.
Thankfully this is all in the past. The girls are now old enough to know how to avoid to go tangle extreme and stay away from chew gums or slime.

Back to daughter number one, as I was saying she is still reluctant to step into a hair salon unless it is my aunt’s one.
Unfortunately, Aunt Paola’s shop is in Italy, thing that made not so easy to regularly go. We try to do our best to get her hair done while visiting but not always is possible, like last summer. Since it was February, the previous time daughter number one had a hair, after I tricked her into coming to the salon with me, now she is really in need of a good trim.
As after the hols I needed a restyle too, I thought to get three pigeons with one stone, and I booked for the all three of us. It didnt work, and one pigeon managed to miss the stone!
“Please, mom, can you cut my hair yourself at home?”
The fact that my aunt and cousins are hairdressers make my daughters think that I can do it also. I tried to explain that you do not learn how to cut hair by osmosis, and neither it is a skill that you inherit, but they still believe I am good at it.
“You always cut our hair when we were little!”
“Yes darling but that it was when I could get away with anything because you were still a toddler and nobody noticed if your hair had different lengths and your fringe resembled Saint Frances’ one.”
Still, daughter number one faith in my coiffeur ability is strong, or it is her hate for the stranger touching her head? It doesn’t matter, and it does not change the fact that last Sunday, after rotating around myself, I transformed into the Wonder Hairdresser of the house.
“We aim for a shoulder-length ok?”, she says
“I am on it”, I say
And so it was. After the first cut was completed, daughter number one had a lovely shoulder-length bob that she proudly wore for a day.
Then every time I looked at her, I saw a tuft of hair of different length here and there, and for the following week every day I had my scissors in hand.
Chop chop chop, trim trim trim…..Daughter number one she is now “proudly” wearing a neck-length bob but so precise that it could go on a geometry book.


I wonder if next time she will rather prefer to suffer half an hour at the hairdresser than a week at home.