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The Break Up

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You know how you get into a comfortable relationship with your hairdresser, but then one day they don’t give your bangs the loving attention they once did, or they just flat out change salons thirty miles away? You start asking your friends for suggestions for The One. The one hair stylist you and your hair will click with. It’s a delicate situation because if you don’t like their scissor wielding skills or chatting with them while in their chair, then you must come crawling back to your usual stylist. And they’ll know you’ve been cheating on them.

Or maybe that’s just me.

For years during college and following graduation, I saw the same hairdresser my older sister went to. I loved her. She knew my hair and my hair knew her. She did my updo for my wedding. She finally opened her own salon. It was actually in my hometown, so it wasn’t too inconvenient to drive thirty-plus miles to see her for a cut and highlights. But then the logistics of it became really inconvenient once I had Miss C. Motherhood and all of its life requirements put a cramp my driving to another county to get highlights free-wheeling lifestyle.

About five years ago I settled on a new hairdresser at a salon near my house. She was young and building her client base. I was cheap and not wanting to pay a senior stylist fee. She did a great job on my hair. It was a perfect match. I didn’t have that girlfriend-type closeness with her, but when I walked out of the salon I had a great cut and highlights. That was just what I needed from our relationship.

Last month, unexpectedly, I got a call the night before my scheduled hair cut and highlights from the salon receptionist saying my hair stylist left the salon unexpectedly. I saw a new stylist at my salon (who did a great job, I might add) last week and asked about my old hairdresser. She told me she and her uncle opened a salon on the other side of town, the other side of town being the urban, hip, edgy part of downtown. In other words, the new place is not within my range of travel for work or home or the girls’ schools, so I probably wouldn’t even consider driving there, but what really killed me is she didn’t even call me to let me know she’d opened a salon.

Beotch broke up with me.

But that’s okay. I’m not bitter or anything. I guess I’m just used to doing the breaking up.


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