Withdrawal, or, When Your Stylist Goes on Sabbatical

Just before I left for Spain two weeks ago, as I do before most longer business trips, I paid a visit to my hair salon and got a relaxing and needed trim. Sitting in the leather swivel chair, catching up with my stylist of three years and explaining the typical routine, cleaning up of my many layers and blunt bangs while mostly maintaining length, I was greeted with a friendly and professionally written letter, from stylist to all her clients. Detailing that starting the end of July, she would be taking a six month leave of absence, to study Italian over in Rome and hopefully intern and learn the ropes from local establishments in her native land. While certainly elated and excited that she has such a promising opportunity, and will be journeying and adventuring with her younger sister, my mind then turned to more selfish matters: what about me? What am I to be expected to do while she is gone? 

For much of my past, I have been decidedly and laughably less than high maintenance about my hair; there were many points when I had physical dreadlocks. I considered this to be a type of more raw, less hygienic tousled bedroom look. Now, I still, comparatively, put forth little effort, mostly relying on a few key products that allow me to have legitimately elegant tousled hair or an actual straight style that only requires my amateur blow drying skills, also known as dry with my head between my legs. Nonetheless, upon seeing this notification, having grown very comfortable to the almost intimate relationship I have with my stylist. With my hair being longer, past the shoulders, I come in for a trim about every six weeks, sometimes more frequently. It is my luxury, but also a necessity, so that I do not appear at the office like some repulsive cousin of a banshee. Even though my hair is long, thick, grows quickly, and is in a very basic and near impossible to screw with cut, my heart palpitated and my palms sweat, at a time when normally, my scalp being massaged and my hair toyed with, I am supremely relaxed. I have one last appointment with my girl before she departs for her grand Roman trip, where I will surely wish her the best of luck, and advise her to drink as much red wine and kiss as many young, old, single, married, what Italian men as possible. Hopefully, she can make a recommendation, for a stylist mistress, a quick fling that will ideally be fun and not painful, while she is away.

(image taken from Bangkok Post)