I've been having what I'll politely call a "miscommunication" with the woman who's been cutting my hair since moving to California. I'd tolerated the situation for a while, because, really, the salon is down the block and the prices are crazy cheap for this area. But after my last experience, I decided "no more! be a woman, Amy, and stand up for yourself."
I'd made the mistake of telling Jeannie I'd like to grow out my hair; after that, she was unwilling to hear anything else I had to say, even if I were as clear as I could be. (For example: "Please cut the back of my hair so it is shorter than the front of my hair, as I am developing a fe-mullet, and it's not attractive.")
The last straw came when she made some incoherent excuse for why she couldn't exactly cut my hair evenly. Understand? Me either.
So, anyway, I'm going to see someone at a much more expensive place in Palo Alto. I was kind of looking forward to it...until I realized the stylist is named "Dre." Hmm. It could be interesting.
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