gone fishin'.

Yesterday I decided to get a haircut. I mean, I've wanted one for ages, but didn't know where to go that would be affordable AND do a decent job on the overly dense forest on my head that I call my hair. But I finally bit the bullet, picked a place, and called in for a haircut.

Voice (in vague european accent) : "Amour de Hair."
Me: "Hello, do you take walk-ins?"
Voice: "Yes we do."
Me: "And how much for just a wash and cut?"
Voice: "Twenty-five."
Me: "Okay, great. And, could you tell me...do you have availability this morning?"
Voice: "If I tell you, it's not a walk-in anymore."
Me: "Right you are. I guess I'll take my chances."

Two hours later, I walked into Amour de Hair and was directed to Richard, a middle-aged, presumably gay Japanese man in black leather pants. He spoke with what seemed, against all logic, to be a french accent.

Richard: "Oh, Step'anie, you are so young, so beautiful. Look at those eyes. You MUST have highlights done. You will be more young and more beautiful, and those eyes!"
Me: "Um. Okay."

So Richard did the whole foil-head thing, and the here's-a-magazine thing, and the tell-me-if-the giant-drier-that-is-crisping-your-ear-lobes-is-too-hot thing, and eventually I came out with a wonderful haircut AND highlights! Oooh la la! But I was happiest that the change wasn't drastic. The slightest trim, the subtlest of highlights...I felt great but would still recognize myself in the mirror.

So this morning at work, I waited to see how people reacted. Some didn't notice, others took a while. "Did you...do...something?? Oh your hair, you cut your hair." This one noticed, that one noticed, my boss's boss noticed, but no one saw the color. That is a job well done.

While I was digging through some books in the hallway library, Jose walked by and said "Oh Stephanie, como esta? You are looking so beautiful today, like every day. But today more beautiful. Bonita!" Coming from Jose, I find it sincere. And I realized that people didn't know WHY I looked different, just that I did. (And more tan too, thanks to the illusion of sun-streaked hair.)

However, the one guy in the office who I wanted to show my hair to hadn't surfaced all day. I couldn't wait until tomorrow, because by then I'll have washed it and gotten it to look NOTHING like what gay leather Japafrench Richard did. But I, playing hair-to-get, couldn't go looking for the compliment. I waited, and waited, and waited. Finally, I broke down and sent an instant message.

Me: "it's 3:30. time for you to come over here and tell me my haircut is both noticeable and nice. i'll act surprised."
Him: (little smiley emoticon thing for gasping dude)

When I told my friend Jen what I wrote, she asked "is the compliment still satisfying if you ask for it?"

Before I could answer, he appeared mid-nonsensical-sentence before stopping suddenly and saying "wait a--did you--hey, you cut your hair!" I smiled and act surprised (as promised).

"Oh, and you colored it too! It looks good! Oh and he angled it around your face? Nice! I like it. I do. And he did't cut much either. It looks good."

"Wow!" I said. "I'm impressed! I didn't tell you that all that, you got it on your own!"

He walked away proudly, while I turned back to Jen and said "Apparently, yes." Sometimes even when you have to fish for it, a compliment can still surprise you.