It Wasn’t All About Me

There are some things in life that I have to do that just aren’t much fun. You may feel that dread when you have to go to the dentist or doctor. I can’t say that I look forward to it, but what I am even more reluctant about is getting my hair cut. Now, you may tell me to put on my “big girl” pants and get over it, but it isn’t that easy for me.

I’ve been the recipient of many bad experiences at the hair salon. One time when I was done I looked like Eddie Munster. I had a black point in the center of my forehead from an over zealous stylist that applied more hair color on my forehead than on my hair.

Once, when I was in junior high school, I wanted to be grown up and go get my hair cut with my friend, Susan, much to Mom’s chagrin. She knew all to well the traumatic grow-out process after my infamous “pixie” haircut. At that time she experienced about as many emotions from a teenage girl as she could stand.

My pixie haircut was so short that when my father came to get me, I stepped off the curb and reached for the door, but he drove off thinking some young girl was trying to get in his car. By the time he came back around the block, I was in tears and screamed for him to stop. He thought I looked so different that he didn’t recognize me.

On the fateful day, I watched Susan get her hair cut first. Then it was my turn. Unfortunately, the hairdresser didn’t wet my hair before he began cutting. It is a mistake to cut long, thick, curly hair without wetting it. After he finished, I looked in the mirror, and decided it wasn’t horrible. When I got home my mother took one look and gasped. I had knots of hair underneath the top layer of hair that he hadn’t combed out and there were huge chunks of my hair missing. My mother had to cut my hair to my shoulders just to salvage it. There are many other bad hair cut stories, too.

Needless to say, I have to mentally prepare myself for a haircut. I had an appointment at 9:00 a.m. this morning with a new stylist. When I arrived the receptionist told me that my appointment was not this morning. I looked at the text messages and saw that indeed it said 12:00 on her text to me, but my calendar had it at 9:00.

I had entered the calendar item on my phone when I was back east. My phone calendar outsmarted me and adjusted it for three hours earlier for the Pacific Time zone. So I called the stylist to reschedule for next week.

She said, “Today is a tough day for me. I am moving my mother into assisted living this weekend and it isn’t going very smoothly. Thank you for rescheduling and giving me this extra time to take care of my personal issues.”

Today’s gift was one that at the time I didn’t even know I was giving. Once I stopped thinking about poor me, I thought to give my new hairdresser the gift of time. She wouldn’t have cancelled my appointment, but desperately needed the time I gave to her.

Go figure . . . it wasn’t all about me after all!

In Giving,

Robin