Stupidity’s Favorite Color: Stripes

There’s something most of us wear every single day of our lives. It’s one of the first things others notice when they look at us. Therefore, it’s of utmost importance that stupers (short once again for unequivocally stupid persons) not get their uncouth hands on this: our hair.

Before I had kids, I frequented hip hair salons near my office where I was pampered and primped. My hair was cut by stylists who obviously took no interest in their own unkempt hair; they unselfishly focused only on their clients.

Post kids, I frequented salons of closest proximity and hoped for the best. After several recommendations, I went to see Justine of Justine’s Hair Studio.  

Justine herself was an attractive blonde; her hair was carefully styled. The salon too appeared pleasing to the eye. No hint of disgruntled customers. No one running into the parking lot wearing dark shades and a bucket over her head. No sign of hysterics.

All I wanted was to cover a few gray hairs. I explained to Justine that I liked a natural look. My hair is dark brown and shoulder length. No one needed to know that I colored it but she and I. She nodded conspiratorially. I relaxed.

When she finished, my hair was not the color of a freshly picked chestnut as I desired, but of crude oil. Jet, inky black.

“It’s too dark,” I told her.

Justine’s date had arrived and hovered around the waiting area. “Go home and check it out. If you want it lighter, come back tomorrow.”

I returned the next day. Justine assured me, “Don’t worry.” (Remember what I said last time about stupers who toss that line around?)

What does “I like my natural color” mean to you? Does it mean I want my hair to resemble the hide of a zebra grazing at a Kenyan water hole? Because suddenly I had stripes that any zebra would longingly admire. Excuse me for a few minutes while I stroll out  into my back pasture, open my mouth wide and holler for a good sixteen seconds or until I empty all the air out of my body.

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Okay, I’m back. So yes, I had cream colored, distinctive stripes on my hair. I blinked several times, hoping that each time I opened my eyes, I’d awaken from my hairgedy (short for hair tragedy). I was speechless. So what did Justine say?

“Do you want me to put it in a French braid for you?”

I realized that if I permitted Justine to do anything else to my hair, I might have to be led out in handcuffs. Yet there were no empty buckets or pillowcases around for me to cover my head with when I went out in broad daylight. While I sat there mutely, Justine braided my hair. This is what the back of my head looked like when she was done:

my hair

 I kept it in this braid for a few days while I decided what to do. Did I bother to mention that I was to be the Maid of Honor at my sister’s wedding in a week?

When I went out in public for the first time in my stripes, my son’s kindergarten teacher ran into me and stopped in the middle of her hello as her eyes fell upon my hair.

“My hairdresser was on drugs,” I explained helpfully.

She nodded in total understanding.

To cut to the chase, I ended up seeing my sister’s hairdresser (yet another person who cared nothing about his own locks) who gently coaxed my hair back to its original shade.

Moral of this tale: If the person doing your tresses looks like he/she spends far too much time on his/her own hair, chances are they are stupid stylists.

Just think!

Keli

Keli@Counterfeithumans.com

9 Responses to “Stupidity’s Favorite Color: Stripes”

  1. Mary says:

    Oh, I so understand. TODAY I asked for a tiny trim as I wanted to grow my hair out. The back is shorter than my husband’s. Glad you got back to your color – I’m going to be awhile. 🙁

  2. What a shame. Coincidently I just posted an entry today at my place on falling in love with my barberette.

  3. Jayne says:

    Holy guacamole.

    I’m still growing out my last hair fiasco. I’ve been reduced to trimming my own bangs, but at least that’s something I can manage. I’ve even started colouring my own hair, partially because I realised that I was paying £70 to get it done when I could get nearly the same results for £5.

    Hair ain’t for sissies. I’m thinking of shaving my head.

  4. jacqueline says:

    OMG… I would have KILLED. I have some grey popping up and I am terrified to do anything about it for fear of something like that. Crazy. Just crazy.

    On another note, I had the rare opportunity of dealing with a stupor yesterday and I have decided that we should have our IQ tattooed on our foreheads… then we can talk to those above 58. Grrr… yes I know that makes me sound like an intelligent-ist but I guess I just am.

  5. Why oh why is a good stylist so hard to find. I have had far more misses than hits myself. I now have a gal that has done pretty well the last several times, as long as I speak very slowly and in easy to understand language we do o.k.

  6. Maribeth says:

    This story was so relatable. It reminds me of the time I picked a stylist who I thought was cool and would do a great job. I had just had a baby so I explained to him I didn’t want my length cut because of the extra weight and I also explained I didn’t want it cut where it lays flat against my head. I like volume I stressed. In the end I was given a short hair cut and he thinned out my hair because he thought it had too much weight. I walked outside threw my hat on and drove home.

  7. Agnes Mildew says:

    I am not proud to admit that I must be deemed a stuper where my own hair is concerned. The night before a very important job interview, I had the fringe cut so short it now resembles a hedgehog stuck on my forehead, went home and dyed it, but forgot the time, so dark brown is now jet black. As my children so kindly put it, You look like a witch, Mum…

  8. Julianne says:

    A French braid? Are you kidding me? I’m speechless.

  9. Vanessa says:

    Oh this happened to me too! I have very dark hair and she gave me BLONDE highlights. All over. It looked so bad. I tried to wear my hair curly just to see if it would look better. Oh no. It did not. I looked like Sammy Hagar.

    French braid? What are you 10? What was she thinking?!?!?!?

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