Friday, September 23, 2011

Like Strands Through The Hour Glass: A Missing Hair Stylist Mystery

Afternoon Readers,
     I remember it like it was two months, eight days, nineteen hours, five minutes and seven seconds ago, practically yesterday, but a little bit longer than that. After receiving a letter from PETA asking me whether I'd like to be represented as an endangered species, I wandered to the mirror, screamed in fright, passed out, woke-up, and decided looking like Ted Kaczynski had run its course. Grabbing my phone, I  attempted to dial the only woman in the world who can face my head of hair and not need rehab afterwards. But there was nothing, only a blank space where "Keeper of The Locks" should've been...

     Not quite sure how I deleted one of my most important numbers, I bit the bullet and called her old salon, an efficient move that would save me enough time to call Husband's ex-girlfriends and let them know how he was doing as well.

     "Hi, I was looking for The Best Stylist in The World's number. Yes, I know she doesn't work for you anymore. You burned all her pictures? ...Even if you had her number you can't give it out? When I see her could I tell her you've moved on...and you collectively lost fifty pounds?...that's weird. Okay, have a nice day.

     Unfortunately, desperate times call for desperate measures, and I needed someone to turn my Brillo-pad-of-a-head into something Husband could touch without saying, "Eww..it's sticky." So I called The Bitter Ex Salon back and made an appointment. Which led to:

     "Hi, I'm Becky, I've been cutting hair, on my own, for a little over a year, my favorite color is clear, and I think Europe is something I put on my pancakes."

     "Hi Becky, thanks for the sheared onion bangs you just gave me. If you don't mind, could you cut some holes in this paper bag; Haha..It's just that I'd like to make my way, uninhibited, to the nearest cliff. Here's your tip. It's a Tootsie Pop I found stuck to the magazine you gave me.."

     It hasn't been so bad. I've filled the last couple months making "Have You Seen My Stylist?" flyers, calling everyone listed as living in the Midwest, and crying myself to sleep because I can't stop making my bangs look like I paid Helen Keller a decent amount to take a crack at it. 

     And then....
     
     Text From: Greatest Stylist Ever - Hey Everybody! Just got back from vacation. Here's my number. Let me know if you got it and if anyone needs to make an appointment..:)

     Me: Is that really you? I've received your message. Can you confirm your position and that you're unharmed? Over..

     GSE: Paige?

     Me: I repeat. Please confirm you're out of danger and will never leave again. Do you need any backup? Over...

     GSE: Did someone give you onion bangs, again?

     Me: Affirmative.

So tell me, are you overly-attached to your stylist, barber, neighbor you let use your clippers?

Until Next Time, Readers!