HERE'S ONE FOR THE LADIES...BECAUSE YOU'LL UNDERSTAND!

The intention of this blog is to keep our loved ones apprised of our collective experiences in Germany. It would be easy for someone as opinionated as myself to use it for powers of evil and expound upon the things that are affecting ME (as opposed to US) in my life. So, I try to keep a tight rein on my urge to write about the more internal or singular things that happen. However, today I am going to stray from this path just a bit and share with you something that happened to me, but in all honesty is affecting us both over here.

In preparation for our quick US trip, and, because it was time, I got a haircut…or rather, I should say…I got
THE.
WORST.
HAIRCUT.
EVER.
(There will be no pictures posted….nope….don't even ask....never…what am I, crazy??)

This is one of the things they DON’T put in the “So You’re Marrying the Military” brochure (no they don’t actually have one..but wouldn’t that be a good idea?!?). Every three years we get a new house, a new set of friends and a new scene out of our bedroom window – all very cool things. But, we also have to find a new dentist, doctor, pizza delivery place, car repair, - and for us girls who like to be as put together as possible – a new hair stylist, manicurist, and esthetician. Not to wax all “complain-y” here, but other than being far from family, I’d say that’s the worst part of this gig.

So - I knew it was going to be a risky venture – and I had discussed it ad nauseum with my girlfriends. Where we would go, how we would discern a good salon from a bad one, etc. Finally, the time came along, as it always does, when Hubbalicious started to tease me about the increasing number of gray hairs threaded through my coif (hardy har har, since I can’t retort to the man who shaves his head!!) and when I started to grumble about how my hair wouldn’t do what it was supposed to do anymore. Then, I realized that we would soon be attending a wedding and that there would be pictures taken at said wedding. So, with a defeated sigh I admitted that I had reached that fateful day when I would surrender myself to someone who hopefully understood my native language well enough to cover my gray and trim my hair in a flattering and natural way
.
In an effort to be as communicative as possible, I drove over to a salon that I had been eyeing in the neighborhood of our hotel and made an appointment. They looked at my hair and attempted to understand what I wanted and then made an appointment for me with one of their stylists. I took a deep breath, smiled and prayed.

But then, fate stepped in….One of my friends here has children who attend the International School, which specializes in bridging their native language and schooling with the practices here in Germany. They produce a list of vendors in the area who speak English and welcome ex-pat business. She used a hairdresser on their list and came back with RAVE reviews about his work – so I took that as a sign that I should look no further than the place endorsed twice already – and made an appointment there instead.

The young man I worked with was funny and kind (and as I later discovered, NOT the one that my friend had seen). He seemed to understand what I was striving for and, I, hoping to embrace the fact that he knew what he was doing, agreed to his recommendations. The FIRST bad sign happened when he was about halfway through the foils on my head and said “Oh, I think the color we picked was too dark to show up, so I went a little lighter”. Wait – WHAT?? The SECOND bad sign I noticed was that he only put about 5 foils onto the top of my head. (My favorite stylist in Norfolk would put about 15 in that area – coloring fewer hairs and allowing them to blend into my other hair color in a much more natural way). Then he started cutting….

When he was done, the result was a bubble cut with tiger stripes. (Think Carol Brady Mullet, only brunette with honey colored stripes). I could not get out of there fast enough. I am proud to say that I DID NOT CRY. But I’ll admit to a great deal of affirmations spoken aloud and a seemingly endless cycle of looking at my hair in the rear view mirror, and then batting it away in disgust. I called my mom, she commiserated and suggested I make an appointment in CA. I called my sister who lovingly took up the call to arms and started dialing all the hairstylists she trusted in the area. (God love you both – seriously)

Hubbz called as I was driving home. He knew I was worried about the experience and wanted to see how it went. I sighed and repeated one of my affirmations to him “Oh well, it’s only hair. It will grow”. He clucked empathetically and assured me it probably wasn’t as bad as I thought.

When I picked Hubbalicious up from work that night, he climbed in the car and I laughingly stuck a pose and batted my eyes at him. He laughed (I should say guffawed!) and shook his head and said “I’m sorry Babe”. About 3 minutes later he regained his composure and tried to convince me that he kinda liked it…. I then gave him a little pearl of wisdom about how if he really wants me to believe a lie to improve my self image, he may want to LEAD with it next time, instead of the laughing and pointing routine we had just shared…. It was a sweet thought though!

While I didn’t cry and I did do my best to force all of my pragmatic thoughts to the foreground of my brain – I do have to admit that at night, the wee beastie thoughts of panic and disgust got the better of me. I actually think I lost sleep over this ridiculous haircut. Then, suddenly, I had a thought!! Despite my many attempts to remember to do so, I had forgotten to cancel my original appointment in my neighborhood!! Divine Intervention – I think so!!

So, the next morning, I rolled up to the new salon, ready for the color and cut on the books – and sheepishly explained to the hair tech that I had just had some work done on the previous day – and could she please help me!?!? She was a great sport. She repaired the color and spoke to me about strategy for fixing the cut. Unfortunately, it’s a process – so we actually agreed to cut MORE hair in an effort to start to fix the shape. With my hair already waaaaayyyy shorter than I wanted, I called my sister off of the appointment making process – short of shaving my head, there was little else to be done.

So…the end result is this… for two times the price, I have a haircut that still makes me sigh heavily each time I look in the mirror. AND my dear sweet husband gets to be part of the super-fun floor show which includes my sullen expression every time we leave the hotel and my overall reluctance to do anything social, because I would much prefer to hibernate until my hair grows!! See- I told you this story had a direct correlation to our life in Germany!!