It Aint Over Till It's Over--Or Is It?

I was just reading a piece on Aol's home page about letting your hairdresser know when it's over:
how so many women feel guilty when they leave one hairdresser for another.

I know but too well what they mean.  I had the perfect hairdresser. My hair could have literally gone for weeks after one of his wash and dries. (I won't use the B word.)

But, he was a careless fellow in the area of human relations.  I always called ahead and let him pick the time of the appointment, just so it would be convenient for him and he could give me the time and attention a client deserves.  But time after time, I found myself squeezed into a few niches of time between stages of a color job, or multiple color jobs. I know how important hair-coloring is to a beautician.  It's a hundred-and-fifty-dollar appointment as opposed to a thirty dollar one.  But it's my opinion that if he takes my thirty dollar wash and dry, he owes me all the courtesy and attention at his disposal during the forty or so minutes it takes him to get the job done.

It just wasn't happening.  So I just slithered away. Even though he and I were friends (with a shared love of literature and plenty to talk about that was meaningful to both of us), I just slithered away.  I slithered away just before Christmas of last year--or has it been two years? Time goes by. I slithered by with an unpresented  packet of toddler books in espanol for his baby to listen to. "Buenas noches, Luna," --and more.

Those books remained in  a chest in my living room, bothering me a lot in the meantime every time I opened the chest and saw them. They haunted me even though baby is now only two and ready to appreciate "Buenas noches, Luna."  What to do?

Then in January I read on a Spanish website a story about some lady big shot in Mexico, and it mentioned that she liked to read. What are you reading now? is the question everyone likes to ask now. What she was reading was Mi hermano, el alcalde, (My Brother, the Mayor) by whoever. 

I remembered my friend/hairdresser, and ordered out the book from Amazon. (It wasn't available in English.) And one fine morning I ran into his shop and gave him the book.  He was astounded to see me.

A week or so later, I found the kiddy books in my living room.  So I ran in with those...we had a hasty joyous reunion (as his hair client sat in the chair, impatient I am sure) and he said, "Pero, Linda--que te paso? Por que no has regresado?" and I gave him a hasty and only semi-lying answer about convenience, location, my husband's poor health..and off I ran again.

Now, I find myself a bit dissatisfied with my hair at the new place.  It doesn't look as good as it might, often...and there are times when I long for my old "perfect" hair. And it was perfect. Good as he is, my new guy never has achieved perfect. What to do?  He is so nice, tries very hard to be perfect (most of the time.)  And the shop is closer, chic-er, nicer, and all the operatives are my bestest friends. All of them, mine the best of the best.

It will come down to this.  Hairdressers are like men; whether male or female, they are like men in that they get bored with you.  It was pretty exciting at first, and gets more interesting now and then (more and more rarely), but--it is going to settle down pretty fast (within a couple of years) to humdrum and routine.

It's up to you to decide if it's over. Will you have regrets? Likely you will. But, when it is over, girl, it is over. YAZZYBEL