Desperate times call for desperate measures.
The last time I went to a salon was February 2020. I was either just about to leave for Florida to see my parents or had just returned; my dad had had a cancerous kidney removed and I’d gone down to be with him and my mom in the first days after his surgery.
I hadn’t lived in this area long enough to have found “my salon” yet, but I needed a trim, so I’d gone to the local Hair Cuttery for a basic cut. I figured I’d probably start looking for a more “upscale” place soon, I just didn’t know where to start yet. I’d get around to it eventually.
Then covid happened.
The first 6 months weren’t so bad. I mean, I’m working from home full time, so doing my hair every day wasn’t really a priority, you know? I did keep up with my hair color, because I cannot stand having mismatched roots, but the growth wasn’t bad. I took a comparison photo at the 6-month mark and again at the 9-month mark in December, but by then I was already starting to hate my hair. It was everywhere. It was so long, and uneven, and the ends were horrendous.
So last week, I ordered hair cutting shears and a good comb from Amazon and decided I was going to take the plunge and cut it myself. Although I see a lot of my friends on Facebook have gone ahead and gotten their hair done at their salons, I just don’t feel safe going to an open place like Hair Cuttery and I’m not familiar with any other places around here. So I watched YouTube videos and tried to absorb it all. I also needed to do my color again, so I set aside Saturday for my “project.”
B woke me up at 6am when he got up for work, so I figured there was no time like the present. I did my color first, which I’ve done myself since 1996 and is really no big deal for me at this point. When that was done and I’d rinsed it all out, it was time. I combed out my ridiculous mop, figured out where I wanted to cut it to, and opened my new shears.
Let me tell you this: Haircutting shears are NO JOKE. With the first snip I sliced into my left index finger just above the crease at my palm. It’s really not easy to hold your hair out and cut a straight line through it while looking at yourself in the reverse in the mirror. Blood began flowing heavily, soaking through the first few Band-Aids I tried to wrap it with. Finally, I ended up taping a huge cotton ball to area, but that only made using my fingers to guide my cuts more complicated.
It took a long time, and I was terrified the entire time that I would either cut my hair too short or end up with fewer fingers than I started, but I finally finished around noon. I’m happy to say that everything came out even, it wasn’t too short, and I felt better about my hair overall. Having fresh color doesn’t hurt either. But I sincerely hope that by the next time I get this desperate for a haircut we’ll be on the verge of life returning to normal, and I’ll be able to go to a professional. Better yet, I hope we’ll get back to normal before I get to that point.