The Haircut

With nearly 500 miles behind us and the daily temperature rising, it’s time I got a haircut. We pulled off the trail for resupply and ended up staying an extra night. Across the street, a beauty salon tempts. I clean up as best I can and head over there with John.

The place is pretty but empty, with several young women waiting for customers. The young lady, Katie, who started working on my hair, looked to be high school age.  A native of these parts, she started this shop with her friend Mandy.

At Katie’s station, there was a mannequin head with green eyes. After a short while, I felt like that was me. First the hot water wouldn’t come out of the shampooing facuet, so she fussed at her colleagues and apologized to me until it finally arrived. Then she started cutting my hair and realized she didn’t know how to do layering. Oops!

She called Mandy over. Mandy got out her razor scissors and patiently explained the process, doing the undercuts with the flow of my natural curl. Katie said, “I don’t have a scissor like that, how do I do this without it?”

I grimaced. Thankfully, Mandy kept working on my cut until it was done. All told, I got most of the haircut I wanted and a bit of entertainment to boot.