wc 1667 /NaNo/Writing Doodle

Several things in my life were now constants:

I no longer had to worry about faux sexy under things to keep Grady happy.  And I do say faux because cheap nylon with scratchy lace might be fine to look at, but is tres uncomfortable by the end of the day.

As long as the major areas of the torso were covered, didn't wear fur, and didn't have any political statements on my t-shirts or tattooed where anyone could see, Marcella didn't care what I wore to work in the store.  She liked me in peasant tops with flowing skirts, so not me, or things that had kind of a gauzy look to them.  T-shirts that said things like "My Other Car is a Broom," were always appropriate, but I no longer owned anything like it.  I'd been harassed on the street one time too many to put out either political or religious themes for anyone to see.

I wasn't going to go back to work for a corporation again.  I'd chased corporate jobs and promotions for years and I wasn't happy behind a desk in pantyhose, just another cog in the machine. I'd worked for a few Mom and Pops and enjoyed it.  I might work longer for my dad and find out how to become a home inspector.  I might even get my real estate license.  But leave my fate up to someone else?  Probably not.

Prince Charming wasn't going to show up at the dog park and whisk me away to a B&B and offer me a fantastic weekend of no strings sex. And he sure wasn't going to buy me a cute little sports car just because I've got a brilliant smile.

Nope.

My happiness was up to me.  So was my look and my wardrobe.

I've worn my hair long ever since high school.  Easy to put in a bun for a professional look.  Easy to braid and keep out of my face if I'm working on a project.  Usually in a ponytail for convenience.  More of a challenge to get the cascading princess look, but doable, for special ocassions.  Grady claimed to like it, in the beginning.  the only females I noticed him notice all had long, sleek hair, usually down. When we first dated, I wore it long and down.  The more I got into work and the daily grind, the more prone I was to twist it into an elastic band and cope with it later. Every three months I went to a discount place and just had them dust the ends, no big changes.

But really, what was the point in maintaining hot, heavy hair that I was no longer happy with?

The great thing about college towns is that people love to experiment and the closer to the campus the more experimental things are.  I wanted a new look and knew that if I got close to campus, I'd have a chance to get something different, edgy. Maybe even flattering.

If worst came to worst, I could always wear a hat when it grew out.

The local free rag, the XXX, usually catered its advertising to college students with an eye to the edgy and budget friendliness. I skimmed the ads and settled on three.  I figured I'd take a look at the people coming out of the salons to see if I wanted to look like that when they got done.

The first place the Mane Event had wrestling and boxing themes.  Everyone Louie and I watched leave the place looked like they belonged on a commercial for WWF.  Right down to their spray on tans.  It looked like the salon made most of its money turning nicely muscled men into overgrown oranges.  I wasn't sure just how much of them had been painted because they all had shirts and windbreakers on.  It must have been my imagination because I kept waiting for the sound tracks from all of the Rocky movies to start to loop.

"What do you say we go?" I asked Louie.  I looked at my watch, it was already two o'clock and I'd missed lunch.  "I don't know about you, but my butt is numb and I could use a burger."  Sitting on a planter watching the world go by sounds good in theory unless said planter is made of concrete that has been rained on for several hours.

I let Louie into the backseat and drove to a fast food place that had outside seating.  Two cheeseburgers, a small fries, and two apple pies later, Louie was full.  I had the chicken salad.

We headed to the next salon, Cutters, Clippers, and More, and I didn't even get out of the car.  I have nothing against people who have tattoos or multiple piercings, but to watch someone whose entire face is tattooed get emotional about a bad haircut making him look stupid was a bit much for me.

The final salon, B3, looked like it catered Amy Winehouse fans; big beehive-esque hair, Cleopatra eyes, and frosted pink lipstick.   While it is a great look for some people, it would be too much work for me to do and I doubted my hair would look like that for more than ten minutes anyway.  Unless I wanted to open the phone book and drop a pencil on a page and see where it landed, this was my next alternative.

"Lou, I'll be right back," I said.  When had I become the person I made fun of? The one who talked to her dog like he completely understood her and could answer back?  As long as no one heard me, it didn't count and I was in the clear.

I clicked the doorlock and went inside the salon.  Just as I approached the reception desk, Bernie from the park spotted me.

"Hey, you're Petunia's dad," I said.  Always lead with your strengths.  The dogs' names I could remember much butter than the human names.

The petite blond looked at me and snapped his fingers. "I can see your dog.  The speed bump with hair."

Not the kindest description of Louie, but accurate as far as it went.

"Yeah.  I'm Bernie," I said.

"What can we do for you, today?" he asked.

"I was wanting to get a consultation on cut and maybe color, but I don't know what you charge." I hadn't noticed a price list above the desk and didn't see any brochures that might have given me an inkling about just how much this was going to cost. "Hey, I didn't know you did hair."

He shrugged his left shoulder and said, "Meh."

Whatever.

"Do you have time now?" he asked.

"I should probably schedule a time to come in.  Louie's in the car." Probably barking his fool head off at any rollerblader or bicyclist who passed his way.

"Bring him back.  He can keep Tuna company."

"Tuna?"

"Petunia's nickname is Tuna."

Well ok then,.  I no longer felt like a freak for calling Louie the Looster or the Lou-inator.  Much less for changing the ringtone on my cell phone to "Louie Louie."

"If you're sure it isn't a problem with the owner," I said.

"We periodically get people who bring their pets.  As long as they aren't on the floor, it's fine." He smiled.  He must have recently gotten back from a bleaching appointment at the dentist, I'd never seen such bright teeth in person. "And I am the owner."

"I'll meet you back here in a couple of minutes," I said.  "If you're sure." Because I no longer was.

"So what brings you in today," Bernie, or Bernard as the receptionist called him, asked.

"I want to make a change." the words were quiet but accurate.  I did want to make a change, but I was afraid of what the change might look like and if I could really do it.

"I can help with that." When Bernard draped a black cape with the salon logo on it over me, he looked at me in the mirror and said, "So what do you want to do?"

I looked at him instead of me.  I had no idea what to do with myself.  What would be age appropriate.  What might make me look better.  What I might be able to manage to do by myself despite my lack of experience with the tools of this trade.

"I don't really know. I just want to be different."

He took my hair from the elastic band, picked up a comb, and started to detangle my hair. "Do you want to trust me to make you look amazing?"

God, yes.

"I just suck with a blow drier and don't have the patience to do a lot of things with curling irons," i said.  "And my dad is getting remarried in three weeks, so it should be something I can maintain well enough I don't scare small children at the wedding."

"Ok.  I'm sure I can make that happen.  what else?"

"I want to be completely transformed." I've watched movies where the strategic use of a wig or hair cut and color make a character look like a wholly different person, to me unrecognizable. "I'm not very good at telling people what I want or how I want it, especially when I don't know myself."

"This is good," he said.  "What about color?"

"No blond.  Other than that, I'll just let you do what you want," I said. No blonds now or ever.  I was replaced by a blond and I don't want to look like something Grady might now be interested in.

"Can I have total control?" he asked.

"I've never given anyone total control before." Was that a good thing or a bad thing? I closed my eyes and said, "Sure.  You can do anything you want to me."

"In that case, no peaking," Bernard said as he moved the chair so I no longer faced the mirror. "This is going to be fun."

~~~
tbc

word count 1667