The importance of a good hairdresser.

The same girl has done my hair for over five years.  She does an awesome job, and when I move to Florida, she is coming with me.  End of story.

She has fixed many, many of my attempts at coloring and cutting my own hair. I honestly can’t recall how many times I have sent her late night text messages that simply say, “I need you.”  I’m confident in stating that aside from me completely shaving my head, there isn’t much I can do to my hair that Becca can’t make better. 

This weekend, Joey and I decided that we were going to dye our hair.  I knew that I was getting mine cut ,and  getting pink and purple tips put back in today, so I decided to just knock out the all-over color on my own.  I chose a simple, medium brown color.  I have had enough hair-dying mishaps to know what colors and tones to avoid.  Thanks to a wonderful job by Katie, my hair turned out exactly how I wanted.  It looks natural and it is actually pretty close to what I imagine my real hair color would be.  (I’m not sure I have seen my actual hair color since I was about 17 years old.)

I’m not going to go into loads of detail about the end result of Joey’s hair, but let’s just say that it did not turn out as expected.

Now, Becca has not only saved my butt, but she saved Joey’s as well.  Joey’s hair is no longer a brilliant shade of maroon, but a dark, lovely brown. 

This afternoon, Becca will see me and my perfectly colored hair and be so proud of me for not jacking it up like I usually do.  She will think that for once, she will have an easy job in front of her and that she won’t be spending the majority of her time doing corrective work.

Then, she will see the candle wax.

This is what happened: I went to unplug my laptop charger from the wall yesterday.  No biggie, right?  But for some reason, I had my hair down.  I NEVER wear my hair down.  It’s always up in a messy bun type thing up high on the back of my head.

Joey has one of those candle warmer contraptions, and she keeps it on the end table.  You know?  The things that melt all the wax in the candle so it still smells fabulous, but there isn’t the danger of having me around an open flame?  

When I bent down to unplug the laptop, a large portion of my hair evidently decided to attempt to make a home in said melted candle.  I was completely oblivious to the impending disaster until I raised up from unplugging the charger and felt a wet, searing pain all down my left forearm. 

Yup. 

Not only had I dipped my hair in melted candle wax, but a steady stream of the wax had dripped from my hair directly onto my bare skin.

Getting the wax off of my skin?  It didn’t feel great, but it wasn’t too hard to do. 

Getting the wax out of my hair?  Yeah.  That one didn’t happen.

Poor Becca. 

One day, she will just get to cut my hair without having to figure out how to fix what I have broken.