I had my hair 'done' yesterday. That's what we southern ladies do-we get our hair done. It was my first appointment with a new hairdresser, excuse me, stylist, that I have been trying to get in with for a couple of years. The wait was worth it.
Why did it take so long to get an appointment with the fellow, you ask? Because I had to bide my time and wait until I met and got to know someone who was already one of his clients. I figured that out right off the bat the one time I stepped into his shop a couple of years ago and his first question to me was "Who sent you here, darlin?". Because around here, it's about who you know and who knows you.
So I plundered along, getting my hair cut at...I hate to admit it, the mall. Even my mother, who has thrown off so many of the old southern lady restrictions (she's worn pants to church, for example), was appalled. Of course, she still gets her hair done (translation-crafted into a football helmet hairsprayed to within an inch of its life) once a week. The idea of my not having a regular hairdresser and a standing appointment was anathema to her.
Then one day, I was smiled upon. I began a new job with a group of wonderful people who do not make going in every day a chore and a constant source of distress and worry. Including one wonderful gal who has been a client of said Stylist for years. I will be beholden to her to my dying day because she hooked me up, as the kids say.
And if I do say so myself, I left there feeling pretty. Had to ride on over to Belk and stroll around, just to show myself off. Well that and buy a summer-to-fall handbag.
Now I've thrown off many of the southern ladyisms myself, such as never leaving the house unless in full makeup-which includes walking to the mailbox. But I have to admit to a calming sense of wellbeing in no longer being a hairdresser orphan.