After searching all over town, and looking at a number of websites, doing some research. I think I'm ready. I’m not looking for trendy, or the young hip one, I want solid dependable, classy, yet not stodgy or old fashion.
I began wondering if I was cool enough, do I have the right look, the same vibe as the one I sought. Indecision and fear of the unknown held me back. Each day I delay the panic grows so I took the plunge. I made the call last night. We agreed to meet at 4:45pm today.
Oh, my so soon, I thought I'd have more time to prepare. Panic sets in; what do I wear? I try on several outfits. Too fancy, too casual, too expensive, too plain. Franticly I wonder do I have time to go shopping.
Feeling I’m being silly well, actually know I'm being silly, I decide to have a cup of tea. As I drink my tea, I notice my nails are chipped and my hands are rough from the recent yard work. The panic comes back. I can’t go with my hands looking like this. I quickly find my nail file, hand cream, and begin to fix my nails.
This morning I go through my wardrobe again and reject several more outfits, finally settling on black jeans, a white sleeveless tee shirt to be worn under a black sweater with ¾ sleeves. Safe clothes. I’ll wear my black leather jacket, and a woven ethnic scarf wrapped around my neck.
If I arrive early I should have a book to read, something light, yet not silly, I want to look smart, and not stuffy.
Topics of conversation… I never even thought… it has been so long since I’ve done this. What do I talk about, I’m not up on the latest celebrity gossip nor do I care to be. Politics too risky for the first meeting. Music, I never listen to commercial radio and have eclectic music tastes, Beth Orton, Antony and the Johnsons, Basia Bulat, Cassandra Wilson, Lucinda Williams, Steve Forbert, Tom Waits are just a few artists on my iPod shuffle list. Maybe we can talk about books. Pets. I hope I don’t get too carried away with my topics and monopolize the conversation.
I could talk and talk and talk about Robin... maybe not. I don't want to be labelled the crazy dog lady.
Yet, she is cute even with a dirty face.
I style my hair taking the time to blow dry it carefully so it shines. I apply my makeup highlighting my eyes, allowing the first coat of mascara dry before applying the second.
Almost ready. I just need to get dressed in the outfit I’ve laid out.
This is going to be hard, the first time in 10 years. Starting all over again. Building trust. Learning to communicate what I want, what I need. I hope we click. That this is the one. I’ve only ever done this four times before. Each time it was the same. The fear, panic, unknown, the first time.
The last time I found what I wanted by a fluke, a chance encounter. I was once more at odds after a four-year relationship ended. I had just begun a new position, at a new location, in the company where I worked. All my co-workers were new to me. On my first day I spied exactly what I wanted, the colour was perfect, the cut classic, it was perfect. I hesitantly approached my new co-worker introduced myself and asked… who cuts your hair? The colour and cut are wonderful.
Cathy beamed and said; "my neighbour Margie is a stylist at the Ixx Mxxx salon on Spring Garden".
The next day I made an appointment with Margie; she cut and highlighted my hair perfectly. So began our 10-year plus relationship, she was my hair stylist and she became a friend. For the last 9 years, Margie owned and operated a small private salon from her home. She was always very busy, all her clients booked in advance to insure that we could get an appointment.
We laughed and talked about every topic. There was the sadness of her Mom’s sudden death. It was bittersweet moment, Her Mom died sitting in her favourite chair, watching the sunrise over the harbour, with a cup of tea by her side; she was 82 year old. We cried and she comforted me during my brother’s illness and death. We discussed TV shows, local politics, the weather, pets, everything.
I trusted her completely I allowed her free reign over my hair colour. Her colour sense was magic.
Margie retired the end of March, she and her husband had separated (as friends) a few months prior, she sold her house in Halifax, and moved back to her family home in a village on the Eastern Shore of the province. With sadness, and joy I wished her happiness in her new life.
So, began my quest for a new hair stylist.
Today for the first time in over 10 years I’m going to get my hair cut at 4:45pm with a new stylist, at a new salon.
Oh, lord maybe I should just grow my hair long, and let the natural colour come back. Hmmm, I wonder what my natural colour is now...
Trying to be calm on the East Coast.