I am a cheater.  A cheater, cheater Pumpkin Eater. I have broken the covenant between me and my Hairstylist by letting other people cut and style my hair.  Don’t scoff. It’s a big deal. Everyone knows that you can only cheat on your Hairstylist with another Scissor Wielder once. Once. Twice? Forget it. IT IS OVER. You can’t go back that second time…

The first time one cheats it’s not as difficult to go back to our Main Squeeze and say “Look, it was late. I was desperate. That liquid diet I was trying out made my blood sugar plummet and I wasn’t thinking clearly.  My friends talked me into trying someone else. I didn’t plan on cheating…it just happened. I am sorry. It will never happen again. You are the one for me. From now on, my hair is your hair. Where you go I will go.Your people will be my people. Your Salon will be my Salon. . Amen.”

There will be consequences when you come back. Just get that into your head right now. Your Hair Stylist will never completely trust you again. A cancelled appointment will arouse suspicion. She may require you to come with a doctor’s note next time.

She will also remind you periodically, of you past transgression, the lapse of good judgement. Each aberration of your hair follicles will be blamed on the bad treatment you received from THE OTHER ONE. Plan on having it brought up several times during the next six months, possibly longer. Be prepared to endure emotional upheaval for awhile.  This is a relationship that has suffered a trust crisis, remember those things take time to work out. Eventually things do right themselves and each one pretends the affair never happened. Such relief.

But the second time you jump the fence? Well, there is no going back Sister or Brother. That is it! Game over. What excuse can you possibly muster up for the second straying? There just isn’t one. The first affair could be overlooked, not the second. Not my second…

This is where I found my two-timing self yesterday, an exile from my Salon home, in need of hair intervention.  I walked into the new salon with a sense of shame. I had messed in my own, comfortable nest and now must try to build a new nest. My new stylist is much different than my old one. She doesn’t wear shoes and has a penchant for Hot Pockets. But she did a good job with my hair and that’s enough, I guess. 

Still, I miss my old salon. I am thinking about driving by there today. A couple of times. Might even stop in and buy some hairspray. Maybe I’ll say “Hi” to my old Stylist. Perhaps we’ll talk and she will welcome me back with open arms, no questions asked. A girl can dream.