I have a salon appointment tonight. A little strategically placed bleach and, voila, I’m sun streaked for another 6 weeks.
I know, at some point, Joe will ask me how I’m doing with the bun enhancer he sold me the last time I was there. The truth is, I wore it for about a half hour and now it’s crammed inside my cosmetics bag, where it is constantly in the way of whatever I’m trying to find. I don’t want to throw it away, but I don’t want anyone to see it and be scared. It’s a little scary looking.
Joe might be the most charming person I’ve ever met. Every appointment, he shows me something else they are selling in the shop. It doesn’t have to have anything to do with beauty to be sold in the shop. It has to be something someone Joe knows is trying to sell. Once, it was homemade tissue box holders.
I’m a sales person. I’m onto Joe. You show someone something, you create desire or need, you sell it to them. I rarely desire or need anything in the shop except the company of Joe’s big personality. The bun enhancer was an anomaly-it addressed my biggest insecurity. It’s basically an elastic with fake hair tied to it. Joe trimmed my hair, blew it dry, then wrapped the fake hair thingy around it to form a bun.
I have very fine hair and buns just don’t happen. Neither do French twists, braids, curls or anything else hair-related. It’s like my hair is anemic or maybe suffering from some kind of hair defiance disorder (HDD). I’m always looking for a solution. Enter Joe’s Amazing Bun Enhancer. My head looked full of hair. It was amazing. He showed me all the ways I could use it. He made me practice until I could do it myself. I couldn’t stop looking at it. He tried to pull the back view mirror away but I grabbed his hand and pulled it back. I was going to rule the world with this bun. Get lost Breck Girl. Chicken’s here.
I wore it home and was surprised when no one pointed out my excellent hair. I walked by my husband, dropping something on the ground behind me, just so I’d have an excuse to turn around and show off my bun. No reaction. I did a ballerina twirl in front of littleb. Nada.
About a half-hour later, after several awkward moments where my husband walked into a room, saw me, and walked back out, littleb approached. “Mom. What’s up with your hair?”
Finally! “Do you like it?”, I gushed, “It’s fake hair!”.
“OMG THANK GOD IT”S FAKE” my husband and son yelled simultaneously.
“I thought you murdered a chinchilla” my husband said.
“I thought you murdered my teacher!”, littleb added.
And that was the end of the Great Hair Experiment of 2016. See you later. I have to go tell Joe his fake hair sucks.
PS I just got back from the salon. There were about five people in there wearing fake hair buns. Now that I have a trained eye, I can spot them a mile away. In Joe’s world, they are all the rage. That’s $100 in Joe’s pocket. I noticed Joe’s not wearing one.