My New “Do”
By Nikki Pelezo / Dirt Roads
While eating pizza at our local pizza buffet joint, I spied, across the room, a wonderful hair-do. Something I knew I could wear. The lady looked to be my age and her beautiful silver hair was done in such a way as to actually make her look younger. Lately, my style has been on the verge of being rather (must I say this dreaded word?) MATRONLY. I might be old, but I’m not dead. It was time I had something new and kicky. I cornered her in front of the pepperoni and mushroom slices and with glee, she told me the name of the style, her hairdresser and the name of the beauty salon.
Instead of asking my hairdresser if she could render this style for me, I made a beeline to the new beauty salon and the new hairdresser. When I gazed upon the hairdresser I should have known what was to come. She looked to be fifteen, had red and green spikes on top of her head, had body piercing jewelry through her eyebrows and something through the little thingy that hangs down dividing her nose holes. She also had a tongue stud, making her speech hard to decipher.
“Leth me geth thith straighth,” she lisped. “You wanth a new look?” She was working over my hair digging out wisps. “Are you sure you wanth to go hog wild?”
“Sure, I’m game if you are,” I spoke with a voice I’d never heard before.
“Ok, leth get you washed.” she said grabbing my arm and dragging me to the wash bowl.
Let you and I cut out this middle stuff and get down to the new me. When my cutting and styling was over, I lifted my head and was knocked speechless. In the mirror was a reflection of an old lady with pink hair, tightly matted with wisps of droopy spikes. The first impression that came to mind was a “Jack in the Box”. Out pops this court jester with a silk hat that comes to several points, making his bobbing head all the more scary. My reflection was a bugged eyed dame with scary hair and a wobbly head.
While I paid and tipped the hairdresser (go figure), I tried to come up with something to tell my husband. He is going to say something about my “new do” and it won’t be pretty. Electricity is on the tip of my tongue, and something about my finger in a socket. East Texas is not ready for this kind of transformation, we’re only one step away from the conservative Bouffant, so anything with wisps and spikes belong to the young.
After a 30 minute lecture from my old tried and true hairdresser, I was transformed from “Court Jester” back to “Matronly” and matronly doesn’t look bad at all. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times, people should look their age.