There's nothing like a new haircut. New outfits can be changed. New lipstick can be removed. And new kilos can be lost (with a few extra miles). But new haircuts are here to stay for a while and I think they should be handled with care. I had nearly four inches cut two days ago. My hair hasn't been this short for at least 20 years.
Day one. I left the beauty parlour with soaking wet hair at 3pm. I suppose no one says beauty parlour anymore, but the salon sounds too fancy for me and the hair place would only reinforce my limited vocabulary. Anyway, the beauty parlour makes me think of Gert. She had one at the intersection of two country roads in my home town. It had a hairspray smell, bright green walls and bad lighting. I went to school with Gert's grandson and somehow that made me feel like more than just a customer's kid. She let me go in the private staircase that led to her house and I think she gave my mom coffee in a real mug. Maybe the walls were orange and the lighting might have been bright, I'm not sure. But I really do think there were stairs that led somewhere that made me feel special.
Day one. Take two. I left the beauty parlour with soaking wet hair at 3pm. I was surprised when the beautician (That's the lady that works in the beauty parlour. Stylists work in salons.) told me to return to the sink after the cut. She said that she'd combed it so much she had to wet it again so I could make my 'bus stop curls'. She'd remembered that the time I waste waiting for the bus is just enough to wrap chunks of wet hair around my finger to form a few ringlets. But she'd forgotten that I'd ridden my bike to the beauty parlour and I'd be smashing on my helmet and heading home with squashed bangs and dripping locks, so the bus stop curls wouldn't last long.
No one in Italy leaves the salon with wet hair. Italians are afraid of the colpo d'aria (http://10leaves.blogspot.com/2013/10/living-with-a-bunch-of-old-wives.html ) and of being seen around town in any form but the finest. For example, I have a friend that gets up early and puts on a sweatsuit. An hour later she gets dressed to drop her kid off at school. Period. Just to drop her at the curb. She goes home and puts the sweatsuit back on. And she gets dressed again after lunch to pick the kid up. (That's not exactly like clean underwear in case you have a car accident.) So if you have to be properly dressed just to be in your car, you can imagine the pomp and circumstance when you leave the beauty parlour. Most women plan coffee and dinner dates on haircut day. They leave feeling even more coiffed than usual and they're ready to see and be seen (even more than usual).
My haircut day consisted of painting the back of the house blue (adding some unintentional highlights to my new do), raking the yard and taking five wheelbarrows (I'm sure I'm not the only one who always thought that word was "wheel barrel".) of clippings (backwards foreshadowing?) to the field behind my neighbor's house. There wasn't a lot of seeing or being seen and not even an opportunity to catch a glimpse of my new look in the reflection of boutique windows or the mirrored-wall behind my favorite barrista. That being said, there were no comments on day one.
Day two. I had a couple of early morning lessons at home with men my age. For the first, I put in a tiny ponytail seconds before he came to the door because I was afraid it was too poofy. Seeing that the day before he'd left saying that he loved me (in the way one says they love gelato and pizza) I didn't want to risk losing him by drastically changing my librarian look.
The second guy hadn't had a lesson for a year. I found the courage to take the ponytail out. I took his lack of comment as the fact that he probably didn't even remember how it used to be.
Then I had some afternoon lessons in town which means I had the time for bus stop curls. The first student said she loved the cut. That's one. The next said nothing (a man my age). And the last actually asked if I'd cut my hair. Her hair is past her waist (that's a little more believable now that high-waisted pants are in) and she's the type that would notice a haircut.
That's where the trouble started. She asked and I answered. And the seconds of silence that followed my answer were so awkward that I quickly changed the subject to put HER at ease for having made ME feel uncomfortable.
It's put a new twist on "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all." I used to think that meant that I shouldn't say nasty things. But now I take it literally. If you don't have anything nice to say, (really).....don't say anything at all. And an addition should be, "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't ask a question", because that leads to the next problem---"Silence speaks louder than words." The kind of silence I got from the other students was just silence. But the kind of silence I got after I answered her question ("Yes, I got a haircut.") spoke a thousand words.
It's important to watch what you say. But don't forget to watch what you don't say.
