division essay revised

I inherited gray hair at an early age and luckily my sister went to cosmetology school to become a stylist. She cut and colored my hair for years until she moved to Florida. Thankfully, before she left, I was introduced to a new hairdresser she’d worked with at another salon. My new stylist knows what I like, listens to my needs and this is very important to me. I always look forward to my visit at the salon because I know I’m in for a treat. My hairdresser is understanding, skilled in her profession and has a great sense of humor.

Whenever I get my hair done, it’s the beginning of a great couple hours. Not only does she know how I loved to have my head and hair touched, she doesn’t mind when I rant about my job or at how pissed I am at Tim. I can tell her how I can’t understand why it has taken him so long to do the remodel or about the anguish I went through when my daughter went missing for a year and half, or about the bullshit I deal with every day at work. She listens and doesn’t judge me because she knows I’m simply venting. She always seems to have the right answer or at least is able to say whatever it might be I need to hear at that moment. She understands we all need someone to talk to once in a while and doesn’t mind lending an ear. On the plus side, when she’s got me in the sink, I do tend to mellow out and become more relaxed throughout the appointment.

When the shampoo and conditioning is done, we head over to the chair. She’ll comb my hair out and get ready for the color and highlights. It astonishes me to this day how she can whip up my color out of nowhere. I know she must have hundreds of clients and yet I’m treated like I’m her one and only. Even if I put a box color on my head, I have to read the instructions over and over and still question myself it I did it right. During the cut, she always asks if I like the length or if I want more off. Most of the time I tell her to do whatever she thinks would look best, or to take off as much as it needs for my hair to be healthy, I completely trust she’ll make it look great, no matter what.

We love to swap stories and tell jokes while I’m sitting in the chair. Last time I was in, she started with the one about the city gal that went to a dude ranch for vacation and the horseback instructor was very handsome. He wore the big ole cowboy hat, cowboy boots; the whole nine. The attraction for each other was mutual and that night after her lesson, they ended up in the sack. After it was all said and done, she left $200.00 on the night stand. He told her she didn’t have to leave a tip; her vacation package was all inclusive. She told him she did need to leave him the money because he needed to go buy himself a pair of cowboy boots that fit. Usually, near the end of my appointment, I’m in tears from laughing so hard because they just keep coming. Some people are born comedians, she happens to be one of them.

My stylist and I have become great friends over the years which make my appointment all the more enjoyable. It’s a time for us to catch up, reminisce and have a few laughs. I not only trust her ability, I trust her to not repeat the things we discuss while I’m in her salon. It’s almost like going to therapy but at a much cheaper hourly rate. She makes me e feel like a million bucks every time I step out of her shop, I couldn’t imagine going anywhere else.