I found the world's greatest hair stylist (my inner old lady really wants to say "hair dresser") when I was 13. I had insanely long, stick-straight blonde hair, and for about 5 years, all she ever did was trim about 1/2 an inch off every 6 months or so. When I turned 18 and decided I was sick of it taking an hour and a half to blow dry my hair, I sat down in her chair and gave her the instructions "Just don't make me look stupid."
Not once in the countless hair cuts and/or colors did I leave that salon chair unhappy with the way my hair looked. I always loved her work.
Then, I was dumb and in love and got married at 21. And moved away from my hometown at 22.
My first hair cut in my new city was done at a "classy" chain salon. The instruction to the guy with the scissors was that I had a small baby, and didn't have any kind of time to spend on my hair. What I ended up with was basically a mullet.
I've only had three haircuts since then. The first time was a bob to make the mullet go away, then two haircuts by a relative who I trust to not give me a mullet.
This week, I have an appointment at a salon for my first hair cut in 23 months.
It sounds trivial, but I'm really scared, like I'm that idiot in the scary movie who discovers a killer in the house and I'm so frightened I run UP the stairs kind of scared.
But I'm going to do it anyway.
For May's Band Back Together: World Tour theme, I'm going to face my fear of the hair salon.
