I went for my first haircut in nearly a year this week. I always get nervous before haircuts. There’s something about the possibility of having my hair ruined combined with trying to make conversation with the girl that cuts my hair that gives me anxiety. This is despite the fact that the same girl has been cutting my hair for years. You’d think we’d be old friends by now.
As I drove to the salon, it occurred to me that we’ve become beekeepers since the last time I got my haircut. I was pretty excited at the thought of this great topic for conversation, because I assumed she would find beekeeping fascinating and have lots of questions for me and that would get us beyond the typical how are your kids doing questions that never seem to fill the time. So after she’d shampooed my hair and I was settling into the chair for my haircut, I sprang the news.
“We got bees this spring, two hives of them!”
“Oh… that’s cool.” (notice that I ended her quote with a period not an exclamation point.)
And that was that. My plan totally failed. I continue to be the odd lady who knits in the waiting area, has a bunch of kids, and manages to get in once or twice a year for a haircut. I wonder if she noticed the construction racks on top of my giant van as I drove away. Jonny added those last week.
Every single time I visit the salon I carry alongside the anxiety a great hope that I will walk out of that place with really great hair and it will be life changing or something. You know, somehow she’ll cut it in such a way that the thickness is doubled and it has a bit of natural curl at the ends. When I got home, everyone remarked that it didn’t even look like I’d had a haircut. Actually Jonny asked (with a twinkle in his eyes and a little grin on his face) how much hair was on the floor before asking, “How much did you pay for that?” Oh well. There’s always next time. In the meantime, I need to start thinking of some new conversation starters…oooooh maybe I’ll bring my cross stitch to show her.
p.s. I sewed the girls each a new pair of ruffle pants, the blackish ones in the photos above. I make so many of those it seems. I think ruffle pants are one of the reasons I taught myself to sew in the first place. I had these cut out for weeks before I got around to making them. Larkspur has already ripped a hole in one of her knees. The fabric was left over from these dresses, a thin cotton lawn. The pattern, as usual, was a modified version of the pants in Carefree Clothes for Girls.
p.p.s Don’t you love the way that dogs (or cats for that matter) will find the one little blanket on the floor and plop right down on it?