I have thick hair, now it is varying shades of gray. It is mid-length, hangs loose around my face. In front, I have what’s called a cowlick (I like the descriptor), so when my hair is short, I have what I call a hair prong, a chunk of hair that sticks up in front. Sometimes I have partial bangs, but when they get to a certain length, the hair prong hangs down in front of my eyes.

For years I went to a hairdresser named Betty. We finally got it to the point in which we had a partial solution to the hair prong problem, which was to have bangs in the front.

I had my last haircut appointment with Betty two months ago. She was retiring, and on the last day of work, she had a handful of clients to see. I was one of many. So it was a hurried haircut.

The hair prongs (there are two) have been in my eyes for two weeks.

So today I went to a different studio in town. It was close and I was able to get an appointment. I saw, as I waited for the stylist to finish with another customer that the upscale place was one in which hair stylists spent as much time preening hair as they did cutting. I will say maybe because it was Saturday morning, that this was a rather simplistic observation.

The stylist, who had loose, long blonde hair, glasses that framed a cheery face, and a chipper expression, greeted me happily. I made small talk with her for the next hour, while she spent the majority of her time brushing and combing my hair. I kept the conversation going because if I did not, she might have lost interest in cutting my hair.

This is the bottom line. My hair, parted in one specific place, falls a certain way. She parted it more to the side. I had said, leave the part where it is. She suggested that I wait for the hair prongs to grow out and tuck them behind my ears. “In the meantime,” she said, “use bobby pins.” I did not say that using bobby pins was the last thing I’d ever do because this would then mean I was following in my mother’s footsteps.

So she brushed my hair, cut it, and then blow dried it. I had said that I don’t do a lot to my hair and instructed her to do the same.

Midway through getting my hair cut, she took my glasses and began cleaning them with lens paper – I took the glasses out of her hands and practically screeched, “you do this, and you’ll scratch the lenses.” Yep.

So I walked out of that place having paid high dollar for the worst haircut I’d ever gotten. And I again have hair prongs. I am both frustrated and pissed. Well I have two options now, one of which is to crawl under a rock and remain there. Or find someone else to turn the hair prongs into bangs. I am not sure yet what I will do.

Next: 251. 9/15/24: A Break in the Weather