Sunday, March 28, 2010

The hairline between right and wrong

I cheated on my hairdresser.

I can explain. I needed to get my hair cut and coloured and she was unavailable during the times that fit with my schedule. If I was to wait for her, it would be weeks, maybe even months. It’s not like I wanted to turn to someone else. I had no choice. So I did it. I made an appointment with another stylist - at a different salon. I intended for it to stop there. This was absolutely without question a one-time thing. After all, I have a long-standing relationship with my regular hairdresser, Tina, and I had no desire to jeopardize that. I knew I’d have to confess when I next saw her; after all, my hair would be a different colour. However, I felt confident she’d understand when I explained my desperation.

What I didn’t bank on was loving the way the new stylist, Stephanie, did my hair. Sure, I hoped it would be good, but I fell in love - with the cut, the colour, the way I felt leaving the salon. And let’s face it, the salon’s “cut and colour for $46.99” deal didn’t hurt. Still, I wanted to stay true to Tina and our sometimes colour-ful history, and I do love the way she does my hair too. So when the receptionist at the new salon asked if I wanted to pre-book my next appointment with Stephanie, I said "No, thank you." We would part ways here. “You can always make an appointment, then call and change it if something comes up,” she said sweetly, making it difficult to refuse. So I didn’t refuse. I made a follow-up appointment.

Now, here I am. Two hairdressers waiting in the wings, one with whom I have a solid and happy history, another who is a worthy adversary, with lower prices and a salon much closer to my house. What’s a girl to do? Either decision leaves me cutting one person out of my life like split ends, to be swept callously into the dustpan.

It's a decision I don't take lightly. And with the hair affair three weeks behind me, I have just four weeks of growth in which to make the choice.

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

My lunch is your lunch

After buying my lunch from the cafeteria today (Hawaiian pizza on a whole grain crust), I got on a crowded elevator to head back to my office. Someone I knew boarded the elevator behind me, looked at my pizza slice and commented, "That's not a healthy lunch," to which I responded, "Well, it's whole grain and it's got pineapples on it, which I'm counting as fruit." It was at this point that the guy beside me (a stranger) said (perhaps even defensively), "There's nothing unhealthy about that lunch." That opened the floodgates. The entire population of the elevator considered it an invitation to get involved, discussing in detail the relative health value of my lunch and the various food groups covered off in the pizza slice. As I got off the elevator, I thanked them all for assessing my lunch. We did not, ironically, get into the relative health value of taking the elevator. Oh well. Same time, same place tomorrow.