My kind of magic

Please don’t ever leave me, woman with the magic scissors.

I have just got in the door from having my hair cut and I feel like a million bucks. My face feels tired and my body drained but that doesn’t matter because my hair looks bloody fantastic.

It’s funny because every time my 8 weekly hair appointment rolls around I think ‘Oh bugger, another expense’ [sad face] like it’s time to pay my rego again!  It’s as if I’ve forgotten the magic that she is about to weave.

And then I get inside, intoxicated by the smell of hair product and blinded by the haze of hair dryer steam (or is that really ‘dry ice’?).

She gives me a hug and a knowing smile and I think aah yes you, hair sorceress.

Over to the wash basin I go.  Warm water through my locks followed by shampoo that always smells nicer than the ones I have at home.

She massages my head with the grace of a skilled masseuse and for a second I  am wondering if she thinks my head is unusually large (I do) but then I can’t think anymore because I’ve melted into a ball of goo.  It is always over too soon and I pretend not to like it as much as I do but really I want to say ‘Please just rub my head for like 2 more minutes‘.

Left wanting, I’m back in the chair and I barely need to say a word before she cuts and shapes the overgrown forest on my head like Edward Scissorhands’ carves ice sculptures. Visionary.

Out into the sunshine I go, actually make that rain. Because it always rains just when I’ve had my hair done.

My head feels light like the weight of the world has been lifted off it (or just piles and piles of really bad hair).  I’m walking on sunshine. I’m in my own hair commercial.

I hope you’ve got something nice planned” she says as I leave. And every time she says that (which is every time) I think dammit why didn’t I plan something nice?!

So instead I go to the nearest mall to spend money that I don’t really have (because I just spent it on her). Still in my own hair commercial. The assistant says, “Your hair looks so nice” and in my head I’m thinking thanks (because I was hoping you might notice).  I don’t tell her I just got it done instead I act like this is how it always looks (I don’t think she believes me).

Finally home and still on cloud nine I pass by my husband who sometimes does but mostly doesn’t notice how wonderful my hair looks as I slide into my trackies and a t-shirt, mane still glossy.

I have good hair so I don’t care.

And as I sink back into the couch I wonder if I should sleep on my face tonight so that I can keep my hair looking good for tomorrow (hmm probably not realistic). Knowing that every day after this my hair will start to lose its shine and soon enough this Cinderella will have turned back into a hairy pumpkin.

And this is why I think my hair stylist is a magician (the best kind of magician), not because my beautiful hair is the result of a magic trick, but because she knows that I can never recreate that same magic at home.

And dammit, she’s right!

So back I go…

Erena Te Paa Stylist