Hair Cut

I am so relieved about my hair cut.

I have gotten lazy over the past several years, with a couple of great hairdressers in my rolodex. To know I can sit down, let them do whatever they might like and walk away happy is a terrific feeling. I got used to that.

Moving to Whitehorse, I was pretty nervous about the hair-cutting thing. There is a lot of good hair here - but there is also a lot of bad, bad, bad hair. Mike's first experience - a very bad, comparatively very expensive haircut - did nothing to calm my fears.

And so, I waited and waited. I got a haircut when I went back East and then I waited some more. By the time I booked an appointment, it was a desperate time.

I think my approach was a good one. I picked someone I trusted, whose hair I liked, and took her recommendation for salons and stylists. She offered three from the same salon - ironically, one I never would have chosen by appearances only. I booked my appointment and crossed my fingers.

There could, or perhaps should, have been several things to further unnerve me. For starters, my hairdresser was bald. Second, it came up fairly early in conversation that she is not yet 21. Eek!

Turns out, her head is shaved in support of a friend with leukemia, which I can totally support. It also turns out that experience is no replacement for sheer talent. And as if that wasn't enough - Whitehorse can be expensive, but it turns out my haircut was Windsor priced, not Ottawa! Hooray!