The Stepford Stylists

Today, I went to a local salon to rid myself of the mass of straw I've been calling "hair" for the past year.

Upon entering this new and as yet, untested salon, I was stunned to see seven stylist, all with platinum blond hair of varying degrees and styles. While the styles in themselves look spectacular, like super-model hair, the color was truly hideous. It was as if they were once hard-core goth-girls, gone the way of Blondie; only not actually blond, more like silvery-grey.

To complete the look, each of them wore the thick eyeliner that looked like they had recently been beaten, and five inch platform-type heels, that left them with the appearance of standing on their toes.

What rational human would choose to stand in such torturous and self denigrating foot ware all day long? Evaluating if this place might turn me into a Stepford drown or not, I opted to be a thrill seeker and risk my straw for the chance of getting a good style allowing me to call it "hair". To my surprise, the pay off was what I had hoped for.

It's true, no one can style my hair the way I like, but all-in-all, I walked out looking and feeling great.

...until...

The Santa Ana winds kicked up and whipped my hair back into a hideous mass of straw.

Damn -