So, I’ve been cutting my own hair for a few months.
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When you’re trying to grow out your hair from a pixie, cutting your own hair is a good skill to have. First, it saves time and money as you’re constantly having to guide your hair out of awkward stages. Also, it gives you the power to get the EXACT hairstyle you want without any lost-in-translations between you and your stylist.
(By the way, I live a block away from my salon. This means, when I walk up the block, I do strange things to avoid bumping into my stylist, Yolanda. Sometimes, I walk with my entire body angled away from the salon windows. Sometimes, I tuck my head into my collar. Sometimes, I run. And sometimes, I cross the street only to re-cross the street after one block.)
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While cutting your own hair is a good skill to have, it is also a b*tch. Before you learn to get the cut you want, you first have to learn to “get the hang of it”: to understand that if you hold your hair at this angle, your hair does this. And if you cut it from this side, your hair does that. Meanwhile, you’re walking around with your trial-and-error sitting on your head.
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I’ve considered going back to Yolanda. But I obstinately decided to keep going so that in the future, I will have the haircut of my dreams all day, every day.
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And then…
The other day, while I was walking (verry far, about 20 blocks from where I live), I heard, “Anita!”
I looked around. Feck! Yolanda! What were the chances??
“Queee taaaal??? I have not seen you in aaages,” she said. Then she wagged her finger at the trial-and-error on my head. “THAT is not my haircut. POR FAVOR, Anita! Come to the salon so I can fix that!! POR FAVOR!!”
Oh how I laughed inside. I knew a divine message when it slapped me in the face. The universe was saying, POR FAVOR, stop with the ridiculousness.
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The next day, I called Yolanda to set an appointment. When I hung up, these were the numbers on my phone. 11:11. The angels were celebrating the decision.
I snickered. Divine humor, I tell you.
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