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| Celebrating our 28th wedding anniversary |
I had my first experience at the hairdresser last Friday. Having moved several times in my life, I know that finding a good hairdresser is not only of utmost importance, but you need to work fast at ferreting out the good places, because the first month goes by way too quickly and suddenly you're in dire need hair cut, just as some social invitation arises. So from the first conversation I had with a woman here, I started asking around. Ironically, it turns out that the place most women go to get their hair done is "Toni and Guy", a well known salon found right back home in Sugar Land.
Last week, my friend Ayda called to let me know she was heading out to get her hair done, and did I want to go along? You bet I did, I replied, and prayed to the Hair Gods that all would be well. Upon entering, we were each ushered to a stall, and awaited the haircutter for our consultation. The interior was circular in nature, and looking around it became clear that this was where the Turkish "beautiful people" came to get their hair done. The salon was quite busy that Friday morning, and I had to wait awhile to talk to the stylist, but there was a gentleman whose sole job it was to bring clients their choice of coffee, tea or mineral water, so I waited in comfort, and enjoyed watching other women turn from ducklings to swans, under the careful guidance of their hairdresser. All were chatting and laughing, but of course it was all in Turkish, so I really couldn't eavesdrop, only imagine.
I was given a folder of different hair styles to peruse while I waited. I realized that I was going to have a hard time explaining that I really just wanted a trim, not a hair style change--especially since I hadn't done a thing with my hair that morning, and it looked pretty awful. How do you say, I want to keep it this way, only make it look better in Turkish? I decided then and there to change tactics, find a new style and hope for the best. Besides, how better to judge the hairdresser's ability? Once I pointed out a couple of cute cuts, he went to work.
I don't think I have ever had someone use so many different kinds of scissors in so many different areas of my head. He worked for nearly an hour, trimming here, texturizing there, and when he was done, I was horrified. It looked like a bad haircut I'd had back in 1986 shortly after Emily was born. All I could think was that for the next 3 months I was going to be looking like a shorn terrier.
The stylist left me to go work on someone else, and two other assistants showed up. It was their job to dry my hair. Yes, both of them at the same time, one to hold the brush, the other to direct the dryer. Holding small hanks of hair at a time, they went to work. They spent another 20 minutes or so, blowing and styling, and slowly I started to gain a little hope as I watched them work. By the time they were done, I liked what I saw, but wondered if I would be able to replicate it at home. However, the stylist wasn't done with me yet. He came back, and using the tools of his trade, re-interpreted their blow drying with his own vision and by the time he was done, I looked tres chic! I happily paid the bill, and Ayda and I lunched across the street at an outdoor cafe.
You never know how good a cut is, until after you have washed it and blown it dry yourself. On Saturday afternoon, with trepidation, I began the process. By the time I was done, It looked pretty good. Not quite so chic as my stylist had done, but definitely do-able and a style that I can live with. Devlin gave me the ultimate compliment, when he said, "Mom, you look younger!" So, I can rest a little easier, knowing that one more aspect of life overseas has been resolved.
I was given a folder of different hair styles to peruse while I waited. I realized that I was going to have a hard time explaining that I really just wanted a trim, not a hair style change--especially since I hadn't done a thing with my hair that morning, and it looked pretty awful. How do you say, I want to keep it this way, only make it look better in Turkish? I decided then and there to change tactics, find a new style and hope for the best. Besides, how better to judge the hairdresser's ability? Once I pointed out a couple of cute cuts, he went to work.
I don't think I have ever had someone use so many different kinds of scissors in so many different areas of my head. He worked for nearly an hour, trimming here, texturizing there, and when he was done, I was horrified. It looked like a bad haircut I'd had back in 1986 shortly after Emily was born. All I could think was that for the next 3 months I was going to be looking like a shorn terrier.
The stylist left me to go work on someone else, and two other assistants showed up. It was their job to dry my hair. Yes, both of them at the same time, one to hold the brush, the other to direct the dryer. Holding small hanks of hair at a time, they went to work. They spent another 20 minutes or so, blowing and styling, and slowly I started to gain a little hope as I watched them work. By the time they were done, I liked what I saw, but wondered if I would be able to replicate it at home. However, the stylist wasn't done with me yet. He came back, and using the tools of his trade, re-interpreted their blow drying with his own vision and by the time he was done, I looked tres chic! I happily paid the bill, and Ayda and I lunched across the street at an outdoor cafe.
You never know how good a cut is, until after you have washed it and blown it dry yourself. On Saturday afternoon, with trepidation, I began the process. By the time I was done, It looked pretty good. Not quite so chic as my stylist had done, but definitely do-able and a style that I can live with. Devlin gave me the ultimate compliment, when he said, "Mom, you look younger!" So, I can rest a little easier, knowing that one more aspect of life overseas has been resolved.
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