I went to get my hair cut and colored today. I struggle mightily with being someone who gets my hair cut and colored regularly. Firstly, the whole endeavor is pretty expensive. Secondly, I have a shitload of hair, so getting it highlighted blonde takes upwards of two hours. And those seats at the salon are always so sweaty.
A couple of months ago, I briefly contemplated just letting my natural color grow out. For a while, I had this kind of heinous unintentional ombre thing going on. Then I realized that I’m actually going grey at the ripe old age of twenty-seven, so that was the end of that. I’m not ready for that kind of thing.
So I spent some quality time in the sweaty salon chair today. I could give a shit less about what happens to my hair (except the grey, apparently), and I’m constantly bored with it, so whenever I go to the salon, I’m ready for a big change. Today, I went for strawberry blonde. I’m kind of a ginge, you guys! A very subtle ginge, but kind of a ginge nonetheless.
I was thinking while I was there that being a hair stylist must be a really stressful career. I’m putting it on the list of careers that are too stressful for me. Can you imagine the fallout if you made someone’s hair the wrong color, or cut someone’s hair crooked? I MEAN. People are serious about that shit. It seems like the kind of profession where people yell at you an awful lot. NO THANKS. It’s like being an airplane pilot or a doctor or a school bus driver. Way too much pressure.
Also, when I was there, there was a kid who was getting his hair cut and dyed into a blue and red mohawk. He was so happy. I was happy for him. That is some awesome shit.