Hatchet Job

You know those moments when you're aware that your life is totally in someone else's hands? You have no option but to trust the skill and training and common sense of another human being. Like when your flight experiences landing gear malfunction. Or at the top of a Class IV rapid in an open raft. Or as they wheel you in to the OR for emergency surgery. All you can do is pray that your surgeon didn't cut class on the day they covered hysterectomies or that your pilot got 100% and a gold star on his forehead for acing the "Emergency Landing" simulation with a cool head. Or that your river guide didn't throw any magic 'shrooms in his omelet that morning (fat chance on that one, but you can hope.)

Well, I had one of those moments this week and survived. Barely. And it wasn't (isn't) pretty. But I had to trust her. I don't have the skill or training to do her job. So I stayed in my seat, trying to remain calm while she worked. And she worked--actually created a piece of work. On my head. Yep. It's the week of the really, really awkward haircut.

Ironically, I don't worry about my hair much on a day to day basis. Low-maintenance is my middle name. (OK, not really, but if I had a middle name I'm pretty sure that would be it.) This week, though, I needed a  confidence boost. I am speaking at a conference in three weeks and I thought a nice fresh 'do would provide a little lift. D'oh. I ended up on the wrong end of a pair of scissors wielded by a stylist who needed to talk. I guess she figured that as long as she kept snipping, I would keep listening and giving sympathetic feedback. She had a captive audience/therapist that she could hold hostage with just a few flicks of her shears.

I had removed my glasses, so I didn't fully see the extent of the havoc she wreaked until it was too late. But whatcha gonna do? Say "Put it back! Now!"? When even my near-sighted eyes could discern that we were approaching the point where the hair on my head was shorter than the hair on my legs, I started to pray. She must have seen the look of panic on my face, because she stopped clipping and pulled out her blow dryer to dry the stubble that remained. I headed home to start damage control. Still working on it. There's always the option of wearing a paper bag on my head for my speaking engagement. That would be a first, no doubt.
Hey, Dallin Oaks delivers great talks with much less hair than I have. Besides I learned a few things:

Lesson # 1--Never look for self-assurance in a salon chair.

Lesson #2--It's worth the trouble to put in your contact lenses before getting a haircut.

Lesson #3--It's just hair! It grows. You want longer hair? Put on more mascara.

Lesson #4--The paper handle-bag from the Verizon store is the ideal size to fit over an adult head. Bonus:
the clean, professional black/white/red graphics will match with almost any business ensemble.

So, do you have a heinous haircut saga? Make my day and share it!