An afternoon rendez-vous chez la coiffeuse, Part Three: The one where the moon, the stars, and the planets align...

I'll update y'all with some links to my two previous posts about "ma coif" later in the week. I'm just composing this really quickly because I don't want to keep people in suspense for much longer.

Soooo...it's about a month after my curly hair intervention, and my do was looking fabulous. However, I was starting to run out of product, and while it was nice to travel to Stratford to visit Chantal, it just wasn't always convenient. So I went to the Deva Curl website, typed in my zip code, and prayed that there was a salon in the M-Town where I could buy some of the wonder material that was doing my do lots of kind favors.

Aaand...there WAS a salon in the M-Town!

I went there immediately after work. The minute I walked in I could tell it was a hip, happening place. Not only that, but I got quite the reception from the owner when I arrived:

"Oh look! Another curly girly!"

I couldn't help but smile.

She stopped what she was doing to another client's hair and walked over to me. "How can we help you?" she asked.

"Well, I'm here because you carry Deva Curl."

The owner's grin widened. "Aren't they fabulous? You know, we do haircuts especially for gals like you."

Did I just hear an angel sing?

She went back to her station and handed me a book called Curly Girl. "This is the Bible for curly girls. Go on, read it and one of us will be with you in a moment."

I started reading. I soooo wish that this book existed when I was a kid, because there was a special chapter written for moms on how to deal with curly haired kids. Oh, I could have prevented those years of wearing sponge rollers to bed...

Anyhoo, one of the hairdressers sat down with me and asked me what I wanted to do with my hair. I went, "Uhhh..." You see, kittens, it was a very long time since any hairdresser asked me what I wanted to do with my hair. I just put it in the hands of the stylist, and they did whatever they could, because they never explained to me what they did and why. More importantly, why. And I was honest with the hairdresser when I told her this. She told me she could help me figure out what I wanted to do with my hair.

I booked an appointment immediately.

The following night, I went out with the ladies. At the end of the night, as we left the coffee shop, I mentioned that I was getting my hair cut at this place that specialized in curly hair. At this point, another curly gal in the group embraced me. "Where is it?" she asked.

I told her about the salon.

That's when another woman mentioned that her husband had been getting his hair cut at the very same salon for seven years, and knew the owners very well. And mentioned that they were a blast to visit.

Do I now hear a choir of angels singing?

Well, several days later, I went to the salon for my appointment. Again, I was asked the question, "What do you want to do with your hair?" I said, "I don't know!" I was panicked; I was getting pictures done the following day and needed to look good.

The owner led me to her chair. "Come. Let's take a look."

The next thing I knew she took a few bobby pins and started pinning my hair up in random sections. Soon I had a rawther sexy, killer updo. It looked amazing. Then she took the pins out and let me play with my hair for a few minutes while she tended to another client. When she came back, she looked through the layers of my hair and said, "I don't think you really need a haircut."

I don't?!?!

"You probably think you needed a cut because you were overwhelmed and had trouble styling it, huh?"

I nodded.

"But you still want to be pampered, don't you?" She winked.

I nodded.

Next thing I knew she's trimming the dead ends off my hair--before she washed it. This made so much sense to me; curly hair shortens as it curls and dries, so why not cut it at its shortest?

So I got my shampoo done, and my style done--and the next thing I knew, I looked at my watch and realized I had been there for two hours. The gals were soooo much fun; they were easy to talk to, had killer senses of humor, didn't force me to buy products, and played groovy music.

Not to mention, I got a good cut.

Oh, one more thing--the salon also had a self-styling bar, where you could practice setting your hair yourself before you left. The hairdressers were there to guide you and help you out, but you do most of the work. This was so you wouldn't leave with the "oh, I can't duplicate this at home" feeling when you left.

So that's the story of my hair, and how I learned to love it. It took me a full 33 years to completely accept my spirals, but I must say, better late than never!