I said "Volume" She heard "Mullet"

A good hair cut can make a girl feel like the queen of the world. A bad haircut.... well, a bad haircut won't grow out soon enough.

I've got a bad haircut.

I'm pretty sure I told her I needed more volume up on top. You sit and chat and watch them trim and cut and it really isn't until the hair is dried and styled and they turn you around and show you in the mirror what the back looks like that you really understand how much they cut off.

And you then see that instead of trimming it up to add more volume, she just cut a layer of bangs all the way around your head.

So you pay the nice girl and hope that when you get home things look a little better.

And when you get home your husband says, "Well,... if you like it, I like it" (bless the man)

And then it really hits you. You have a mullet. I would take a picture and post it so you can judge for yourself, but I'm afraid the reality of it all would be too much for me.

It reminds me of the time a different hair stylist was cutting my hair and we started discussing her family. I asked something innocent about her mother and come to find out she's adopted and only recently met her real mother.

She started to cry.

While she was cutting my hair.

And the harder she cried, the faster she cut.

I lost 8 inches that day. Was only wanting a trim.

Lesson learned.

Several years before that I had just had my second boy (so I guess that would be roughly 8 years ago) and it was winter, my hair was dark and gloomy and I desperately wanted a highlight. I compromised and went to someone that I had not been to before who was pretty cheap and could get me right in (let me just say, if someone is very cheap and can always get you right in, that also should cause you some concern).

I just wanted a highlight. Nothing fancy.

Halfway through the rinse she said, "Uh oh."

What?

"I need to go grab some toner"

WHAT?

She then proceeded to spend the next 10 minutes washing my hair. I will just go ahead and tell you that that is not a good sign.

By the time I made it back to the mirror, I was very concerned. As I should have been. Apparently. Because my hair was no longer a mixture of several shades, but in fact one very solid shade.

Of orange.

Or a derivative thereof.

She said she could try to fix it. I paid the nice girl and vowed never to return.

Mrs. Troop came by the next day to bring us a meal (since we had just had a baby) and I mentioned how I looked like an undercover spy agent with my solid orange wiglike hair. I may have even mentioned the name Sydney Bristow. It was at that point that our lasting friendship really began. She revealed to me that she too secretly admired the undercover spy agent, Sydney Bristow from the show Alias. (oh how I miss that show) We were best friends from that day forward.

We spent more money on my hair trying to get it back to something closer to what it should be than we would have had we just paid someone the big bucks in the first place. So my husband decided that we would no longer skimp on my haircuts but go with someone who knows what they are doing.

Lesson learned.

So now I am wondering how I should have communicated differently to avoid having a mullet. (and if you are reading this blog, and you have a mullet, please know it is not the mullet I have problems with directly, the shape just doesn't compliment my face). Who knows, maybe I'll start a new trend.

The Mom Mullet.

But if not, fortunately it will grow out in 3 - 4 weeks. And if you see me between now and then, you can just smile at me and nod sympathetically. That will be sufficient to convey your empathy.

Mrs. Troop really wants me to post a picture. If I get up the nerve, I'll do it.

But don't hold your breath.