Josie and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Hair Days, Pt. 1

I believe that every woman deals with her post-partum months differently. Me, I dealt with it the way I deal with every crisis in my life--I changed my hair. Most people will tell you that you should never mess with your hair when you're upset, but when I was younger, it always worked. You know, cutting of the old Josie and becoming the new. In the next two instances, though, quite the opposite happened, and I was very lucky to have a hair stylist who is sympathetic and has a great sense of humor.

The first time, Cathryn was almost six weeks old. I hadn't really gotten out of the house, other than to go grocery shopping, so my sister proposed that I ride with her to Murrells Inlet to see her hairstylist. I figured it would be fun, so why not? Well, I'm sitting there while my sister gets her hair done, looking at one of those gazillion hair magazines, and thinking about how I was going back to work in a week, and how I didn't want to leave my baby. So, without thinking, I sit down in the free stylist's chair and tell her that I just had a baby, I'm getting ready to go back to work, and I need something easy. Something I can just flip my hair over and dry, and be done. She turned the chair away from the mirror, and went to work. When she turned me back around, I wanted to cry. I may have; I don't know, it was seven years ago. I had, basically, a layered mullet. As if that wasn't bad enough, when we walked outside, it started to rain.

When we got back to my house, my sister tried to fix it, but there was nothing she could do. I had to bite the bullet and call my stylist, Susan. I didn't want to call Susan, because I would have to explain how I ended up with a layered mullet, and she would know that I cheated on her. That's never an easy call to make. When I did suck it up and call her, she was at Wild Water and Wheels with her family! Boy, talk about feeling guilty. Not only did I cheat on my stylist, but I interrupted a fun day with her family.

She came by the house, to assess the damage, and all she could do was put her hand over her mouth. She never said "that's what you get for seeing another stylist"; she merely, with a chuckle in her voice, told me to come by the shop first thing Monday morning. She couldn't do anything there at the house, because she had none of her tools. I thought to myself that it was my just desserts for cheating on Susan with another stylist, that I would have to cool my heels until Monday.

When Monday came, though, Susan never said a word. I plopped myself down in her chair and she went to work, and ended up giving me one of the cutest haircuts I'd ever had. I swore then I'd never let anyone else touch my hair.

Tomorrow-- I shouldn't let me touch my hair, either.

Toodles!