Suburban Strife

What makes for a bad day in suburbia?

One

My husband had to be away for most of the weekend. I decided to take advantage of his time away and watch one of the ultimate chick flicks possible - the BBC mini-series version of Pride and Prejudice. Two discs, five hours of classic chick lit translated to film. The discs from Netflix arrived in a timely fashion. I had good wine.

Friday night went as planned. Got the kids to bed, poured a glass of wine, put in disc 1, and curled up under the duvet. Ah.

Saturday night was all set to repeat. Got the kids in bed, poured a glass of wine, and put in disc...hey, wait a minute. This isn't disc 2. It's another disc 1.

Nooooo!!!!!

I checked the disc sleeve. Yup, it said disc 2. I check the other disc sleeve and disc. They match in saying disc 1.

Sigh. Thanks, Netflix.

Two

My hair is extremely thin, fine, and straight. I hate it, of course. I'm slowly learning to live with it. Maybe by the time I'm 90 I'll be at peace with it. Because of the nature of my hair, it's extremely difficult to cut. The slightest error in the cutting line is very visible.

Over the years I have struggled to find people who can cut my hair well, much less at all. There was one woman out west during my high school and college years; I would actually go six months without a cut so she could do it rather than risk a bad cut. Then she left the business to start a family and I tried for about 12 years to find someone - yes, 12. In that time I don't think I ever saw one hair dresser more than twice. Once I left a salon and not even the receptionist would tell me I "looked great" in that falsely perky manner that seems to be required of salon support staff.

A little over five years ago, just after we moved here, I tried the local Aveda salon (as I did and do enjoy Aveda products). It was one of the worst cuts I have ever had. The owner had to try to fix the damage, but the fix was barely better than the original. A woman I knew actually asked me if I'd had my hair cut that way on purpose.

After that fiasco, I decided I needed to go to the city, that I would have a better chance there. Suburban scissors would not do. After a little research and some building of courage, I called a specific salon and asked for an appointment with the owner of the salon. It was more than I'd ever paid for a haircut in my life - and it was perfect. Worth every penny. Even my husband recognizes that splurging on a good haircut reaped benefits with him, too. No more whining about bad haircuts for months on end!

I found my person. Over the last 4 1/2 years, I had come to trust him so much that I would sit down and not even tell him what I wanted done. I would just say, "Make me look good." And he would. I referred several friends for him. I even started getting highlights from him (fabulous, natural-looking), though I did not keep that up because finding that block of time to get into the city on a regular basis was difficult (and the cost was hard to justify-if the cut was more than I'd ever paid before, imagine partial foils! Worth it for the quality and time spent, but still pricey).

Because I am out in suburbia, and because of the relatively craziness of our life, I do not get into town for cuts as often as I would like. The last time was mid-August. I realized a couple of weeks ago I really needed a cut and started looking at the calendar for a time I could get in. Once I figured that out, and cleared it with my husband's schedule, I called.

Me: I'd like to make an appointment for a cut with David on November 17th, late afternoon.

Salon: Um, David is no longer with the salon.

Me: What?

Salon: David is no longer here.

Me: Who owns the salon now?

Salon: A woman named Monica.

Me: Do you know where David is?

Salon: No, I don't.

Me: Uh...Okay...Uh ...Um...Thanks...Uh, bye.

Obviously, I was shocked. When I was in for my cut in August, I asked how business was going and he indicated it was going well. And not to have a postcard or some contact information for loyal customers is surprising unless it was a sudden decision and/or he has left the business altogether. It may well have been sudden, as his father's health has been up and down in the last couple years. Wherever he is, I hope he's okay.

I guess I'm growing my hair out.