Sassy McSass

Got me a new hairdo, wanna see?

The pensive look, an apparent favorite of mine when it comes to self-photos.

It only took a little bit of persuading to convince Joel that my long (for me) hair was overrated. It took slightly more persuading to be allowed to book an appointment at Ron Paul, a slightly pricey but highly excellent salon. I've been going to [cheap-0 chain salon] for the last few years, and only twice a year. By my math, I've saved enough to deserve a short, sassy 'do from a nice salon. But it is amusing that I just paid more for one haircut than I've paid in a year and a half!

And I have vowed never to return to [cheap-0 chain salon]. It may have been an economical grad-student choice while it lasted, but my experience at Ron Paul has changed my life.

And by changed my life, I mean embarrassed me horribly when the following conversation took place:

Master Stylist [that's what they're called]:Um, where did you go before?
Me: Er - why?
M.S.: You've got a giant hole right here.
Me: Really?
M.S.: Yeah see here where it goes straight back and then drops? Who did this to you?
Me: I don't want to tell you.
M.S.: [thankfully let it slide]
~several minutes of consultation, during which she informs me that I can't look like my photo of Posh Spice because of this giant hole in my layers and I try in vain to understand salon physics~
M.S.: Ok seriously, you have to tell me where you went before. Was it a Hair Cuttery?
Me: I really don't want to talk about it.
M.S.: C'mon!
Me: I went to a [mumble mumble cheap-o chain mumble].
M.S.: Oh yeah. Those places sometimes have really talented hairstylists, they just don't apply themselves.

Oooh. So I guess they are the hair salon equivalent of those kids who cut class to smoke pot? (You know who you are.)

But why would they do such a terrible hack job on me (of which, for the record, I was totally ignorant for like six months until this most recent semi-annual haircut...Willie Wonka, anyone?) that I wound up in Ron Paul begging the forgiveness of a Master Stylist with whom I was barely acquainted? That's just not right, yo.

The moral of this story: A good haircut is worth the money. All you ladies are rolling your eyes and wondering how I manage to cross the street. Yeah yeah. Next you'll be telling me I should splurge on the two-ply toilet paper.

Just kidding - nothing but Angel Soft here. Priorities, people, priorities. Though mine might be slightly questionable if my toilet paper quality supersedes that of my hair salon. What do you think?