I went to my Mom’s last night for a little hair trim. It’s always an adventure. My Mom has been working in the banking industry for as long as I remember. She did stray from finance just long enough to graduate from Simon’s school of Hair Design in the early 80’s. I think she actually went there part time while still working at the bank, but I was a kid so my memory won’t necessarily be spot on. Anyway, Mom had an edge the other students didn’t: my sister and me. We were live-in guinea pigs. Remember that girl in your 7th grade class with a rat tail? That was me. How about the 4th grader with a Bette Midler/The Rose era perm? Yep, me again. That chick with the edgy skater hair cut at the tender age of 12? My sister. You never knew what you’d end up with when you sat down in her chair!
Now, I’m not complaining in the least- nothing beats a free hair cut and she’s really good at it. Plus, my Mom’s so great to hang with. Our family and friends have been taking advantage of Mom’s talent for years. Invites to come to dinner are often accompanied by “…and can you bring your scissors?”. The most fun part is watching her stand in front of you trying to determine if your ends are even while drinking her 3rd glass of wine. This has led to a disaster or two though. I’ll never forget when Mom highlighted my friend Leslie’s hair. Leslie had long dark chestnut hair that reached half way down her back. She wanted some blond highlights so Mom was going to work her magic. She pulled Leslie’s hair through the cap and applied the solution, wrapped her hair up in the plastic cap and we waited. We chatted & had some wine while we were waiting. In fact we lost track of time. That is, until Leslie put her hand to her head and said “Is my hair supposed to be this hot?“. Mom had me help her pull the cap off Leslie’s head and let me tell you, it was practically smoking. And it was white. Bone white- flour, snow, Elmer’s glue, stark white. It was horrible- yet it was so hard to keep from laughing just a little. She looked like the bride of Frankenstein. And by this time it was late in the evening and I’m pretty sure she had to work the next day. Mom was on the phone with Miss Clairol’s hotline so fast. She eventually toned it down after many a trip to the all night Eckerd’s, but things were never quite the same between Leslie and I.
Bless Your Heart 