A Cheating Housewife…

September 11, 2009

in Cheap Expectations

Being unemployed, I have a LOT of time to think about the trivial minutiae of every day life. Being pregnant and unemployed, I become WAY too emotionally invested in the trivial minutiae of every day life. Should I run the dishwasher now, or wait until the next meal? – because I’m pretty sure if I only use a small plate, I can squeeze at least one more dish in and that will be one less meal to have to clean up later – which really saves water, right? And saving water saves the environment. Not to mention money on our next water bill, which would be good for my marriage because my lovingly cheap husband is counting on me to save every penny possible until I pop out our million-dollar baby. Of course, said husband is also a big fan of having clean plates to eat his next meal on…NOW.

So in between becoming paralyzed with indecision over when, exactly, to run the dishwasher and wishing I had TIVO so I wouldn’t have to wait until next week’s rerun marathon to catch this week’s episode of Top Chef, I noticed that my hair is growing freakishly quickly.

See? THIS is why I was not made for a life of leisure.

The 20 different pregnancy books that we’ve managed to accumulate/had thrust upon us by those looking to (finally) clean out their own collections all indicate that this is a possible side effect of pregnancy. And, compared to other possible side effects such as skin tags (??), hemorrhoids, fuzzy tummies, and stretch marks, this isn’t something I’m complaining about – trust me! It does, however, leave me contemplating something I never thought I’d do…

I’m thinking about cheating.

On my hairdresser.

I KNOW! Who does that?? Sure, I’ve broken up with hairdressers before. When people started guessing that I was at least 5 years older than I am (as opposed to the previous standard of 5 years younger, or at the very least dead on), I knew it was time to end the relationship with my stylist and move on. I’ll admit, I took the easy way out. There were no warnings or explanations. Not even a post-it note. I just stopped calling. Stopped coming around. Found a new salon, across town, on the other side of the tracks (literally). One that was sleeker, newer, and had moves I’d never experienced before. Cowardly? Absolutely. But that will go down as the best 2 hair years ever.

Maybe I was spoiled. Zoe, my stylist, knew exactly what I meant when I wanted my hair to be a deep rich mahogany, more brown with a hint of red. On the rare occasion I actually had an idea about what to do with my hair, she was the voice of reason. Bangs? NO. Not with those cowlicks and that baby face. More often, I had no idea what I wanted – just that I wanted to look good. And she always delivered. No questions asked, I just had to sit back in her chair, relax, and enjoy.

Now? I’m expected to think for myself! To go in and tell my stylist exactly what I want. How long, layering options, fringe versus the still-secretly-coveted bangs, etc. Even better is when I bring in a picture. Except I never wanted to be one of those clients. The one who expects that just because they like a haircut on someone else means it will look good on them, and that they will come out looking exactly like Jennifer Aniston. Not that my hair dresser can’t deliver. When I picked a haircut out of a magazine, she made it happen – and it did look fantastic. But those moments of inspiration on my part are about as rare as finding a new release movie at Blockbuster on a Friday night. And now that my hair has outgrown its last haircut, I’m out of ideas.

Except for the one.

The one to cheat on my hairdresser.

You see, I’m not ready to break up with her. She can deliver when I know what I want. And she’s so incredibly nice. I’m sure many of her clients mistakenly consider her a friend because of how nice she is. And she has the freakish ability to remember our conversations from the last visit – despite my habit of coming in every 8-10 weeks, usually right before a big interview, or holiday, or family visit. I don’t think my obstetrician remembers as much about our conversations, and I see him at least once a month right now. So I don’t want to dump her. There aren’t that many salons in town, and if it doesn’t work out with the other one, I still want the option to go to her. To have her fix it should it go horribly wrong, or just ignore my temporary indiscretion and not ask why its been so long since I last came around. But she’ll know. So maybe I should just be happy with what I have, keep searching for my next haircut idea and just let my hair keep growing until then.

But what if there’s someone better out there? What if I could find this town’s Zoe at the other salon? Someone who understands my hair – its whimsical cowlicks, how it insists on parting on the right side, how its thick and kind of curly but not really. Someone who will know exactly how to treat it without me having to say a word.

Or maybe I should just quit the stylist scene all together. Let my hair grow. Take some time and figure out exactly what I want it to be. Learn to understand it myself instead of looking for someone else to do that for me.

Just so long as I don’t try and dye it, I should be fine. Right?


Jeve (aka John and Steve) October 3, 2009 at 11:10 pm

Take the plunge. Please. It will make me feel better than I cheat on my hairdresser.


FertKiki September 12, 2009 at 3:36 pm

I am so happy I can cut my hair with an electric trimming kit.

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