All in all I'd say that I'm a pretty low-maintenance girl. I rarely wear makeup, I don't wear the clothes that I do with the intention of keeping up with the ever-shifting trends, but I love going to get my hair done. It's just such a calming and soothing experience. I just got back from getting my highlights retouched. Leigh did an amazing job. She listened to what I had to say about my hair care regimen and gave me her honest appraisal of the condition of my hair, which had vastly improved since the very first time I saw her back in late February (I had some breakage at that time). While she ran her fingers through it, she prescribed a slight color change and a toner to give me an overall brightening effect. While she combed, separated, and coated my hair with the bleach and foil wraps we talked about the goings on in our lives. I felt that we were on a similar wave length, and I suppose that's why we've been friends since round about the second time I went to her. When she finished with that and it was time to check on how my color was developing, I got a kick out of how she flipped through the folds of tin like they were pages in a book that she was intently reading. When I left the red stage I was taken to the back to get all of that stuff out my hair. Someone other than Leigh handles that and I don't know what her name is. How wrong is that when you really get to thinking about it? I don't just let anyone that far into my personal space and usually we're on a first name basis. I decided I was going to change that. The woman was quietly instructing me to lean my head back and I acknowledged her with an okay or something along those lines, but I didn't stop there, I broke expectations - social conventions - between a shampooer and a shampooee (linguistic license, never mind that poetic shit). Responding to her evident accent, I asked where she was from, full well knowing she would tell me Mexico. I asked this because I can always connect with someone on the topic of language. She answered with what I expected to hear. I followed that up with the dumbest thing I probably could have (ok, I'm being a little brutal with myself): I asked her how long she has been in the United States now. If I was new to a country I certainly wouldn't expect that sort of a question from a grown adult, I would even potentially be offended by the implications. There might be a sort of inference there that I haven't yet conformed to how that particular society largely construes itself. Who knows what she might have thought. She did answer though, it has been three months since her arrival. After that, I couldn't think of much else to say to keep a dialog going between us. I did ask if she likes it here after what was an extended pause and it turned out that she does. She continued to interject my thoughts with her brief instructions and I complied. If she took my questions the wrong way, it wasn't relayed back to me in the way she took care of me. She pulled all the foils out in one or two swift motions. She got my hair all soaked in just the right temperature water and gave me a generous amount of shampoo. The way she rubbed my scalp I felt like I should be on one of those Herbal Essences commercials (although let me state for the record that those aren't the products I use in my hair). I had a lot of interesting thoughts while she was putting toner in my hair and seven minutes later raking it out with her fingers. A couple of them were apparently betrayed by my facial expressions and she automatically apologized. I had to explain to her that they had no relevance to what she had been doing, that it concerned what I had been thinking. After that I smiled and even laughed a few times. I can't now recall what was on my mind. Oh yeah I can, it happened when she was giving me my final rinse. She directed the flow of the water so as to avoid getting any into my eye canal, just the way my mother used to when I was little. It used to tickle back then when my mother did that and when this lady did it, it was no different. I'm not sure if laughed out sheer nostalgia or if I simply couldn't resist the impulse. Who cares? I rather enjoyed it. When we were all finished she told me thank you, and with pause for emphasis and what I hoped reflected sincerity I told her, no, thank you. Leigh took me up front to give me a trim while I was standing up because my hair was so long - I had no idea that it was that long - and she kept remarking on how good it was looking. She put some moose in it and blew my hair out straight. She told me before I took off out of her chair that she was jealous of my hair. She did a great job and she deserves whatever compliments I receive that are directed toward it. I should post some pictures later on this evening.
-- CrystalShiloh @ 07:17 PM