Farmers don’t have a very serious dress code, we are about function. Most farmers I know spend more on their boots than they do on health insurance. We are a practical bunch to say the least. Most of us aren’t overly concerned about our personal maintenance. My answer to high fashion is a good hat and clean jeans.
I don’t think much about haircuts. It’s not until I’m blinded by a swath of annoying strands clinging to my eyelashes and obscuring my view that I consider the whole concept of beauticians. As a general rule a good hat and a scrunchie will pull into submission even the most unruly hair. It’s when I have to start searching for bobby pins that I draw the limit. We recently adopted a newborn (human child this time). The early feedings combined with lack of sleep and full scale 80’s hair was bringing me to the point of clippers. On a recent trip in to the feed store, I decided to book in last minute to the local beauty school in town. Over the years I’ve met some great young people and had some wonderful service at the school. I was in a hurry (when am I not in a hurry?) and was delighted they could fit me in right after another appointment.
When I arrived I was met by all the frivolity of ‘Spirit Week’ at the school. It appeared that the lovely young girl who did my hair cut was a fairly new student. Her constant questioning of the instructor on basic technique showed insecurity. This really didn’t trouble me, but the comment that she’d “ruined the mannequin’s hair” gave me pause. I sat even more stoically.
As a child my mother would admonish me to ‘hold still’ as she cut my hair. I think I was in a hurry even then. She would place the scissors along my bangs and cut carefully, repeating “DON’T MOVE!” Then when she’d finished the sensitive part around my face I was allowed to get my wiggles out. My mom still cuts my hair when I can book in, but she’s in high demand…not just for haircutting, for everything. So I try not to overbook her with things I can get done by someone else.
Overseas and later in college, my friends were on a tight budget. I’d watched my mom cut hair for years, she was the resident beautician (bookkeeper, chef, chauffer, landscaper, doctor, and educator) and I figured it couldn’t be that hard. There’s a learning curve in everything, right? I bought a pair of decent scissors and trimmed ends, learning as I went... using the oft quoted “hold still”. I wasn’t great at it, but for a group who wore baseball hats I was passable and the price was right.
Back to the beauty school chair, my young miss was dealing with the conundrum of my bangs. Her fear of getting too close with the scissors was palpable. I closed my eyes. Slowly, the snipped ends fell in my lap, as she moved from one side of the chair to the other. I waited. The scissors receded. I opened my eyes. Sheldon. Sheldon from the Big Bang… oh well, I wear a hat and the price is right.
