Bad Hair cut - bad timing

I have a great relationship with my hairstylist. He is Italian descent with a Davey Jones haircut which he keeps nice. He knows I cheat on him. Of course he does without me telling him, since he has worked on my hair for several years now. I sometimes threaten him with murder if he does not comply with my wishes and so naturally most of the times he does. When I am not threatening he tries something new and shorter. He knows I hate short hair. Yesterday was my only free day to get ready for all I have to do and need to look my best. He wasn't working and so I decided to check out another salon. There were three in one corner of an area and so I decided to go to the closest of my parked vehicle. The woman asked me if I wanted conditioner and I said yes. She continued to explain why she was asking and then went on a speaking course. I have been doing my hair forever. As a teen I was getting my hair trimmed at least. However, I let her continue to tell me all she has learned, since she felt she needed to. I had one request. I was growing my hair out. Otherwise she could do what she wanted. I hate short hair. It is as simple as that. What does she do? She cut it all off. All of it. She also needed a razar at the back of my head. "No razar," I exlaimed. She then showed me the back of my head and I paled. She had done it. She gave me a boy haircut. I wanted to leave but it was too late. I could feel tears wanting to burst out. How could this happen? I informed her that I said I wanted to grow my hair out. She did not hear that part, only that she could do what she wants. I asked her to make it as feminine as possible. When she took out her heart medication I realized I had to play nice. I wondered later if the medication is a ploy for unhappy customers. I tipped her well regardless, knowing that I would never return. Two bad experiences within two years. I told you about the last one. Out of three, I had to pick this one. As she was layering what was left of my hair at my request to give it a touch of womanhood, the music came on loud and aggressive. I heard the endless swearing from the vacalist and asked what that swearing was all about. A male getting his hair cut informed me it was rap as if it was a new discovery for me. I wanted to run, wet hair and all. "Does your stylist know you are cheating on him?" She asked. I explain that we have an open relationship. I cheat and always return to him. I didn't explain that he cheats as well. I am not his ownly client. "Do you have his cell number?" She asks. I am beginning to wonder if this is a reality game and I am the unsuspecting customer. I am asked if I would like a coffee and jump at that opportunity. I am in luck I am assured. One woman has worked at Starbucks and another at Tim HOrton's. I ask for the Starbuck's version. Uch, Uch Uch. Maybe the person worked at Starbucks but they are certainly not using the same coffee. Dishwater anyone? Now I know what the Italians meant (book 2) when they accused my coffee of being dishwater and spit it out. I did not spit it out. The entire ordeal was a nightmare from which I was not waking up. Then, I am being bombarded by Starbucks ex employee of the month of all the availability there is for me there. I was asked if I was interested in a product she thought I was looking at. It was a picture of a man losing his hair with the promise for it to all grow back with the tube of magical powers for sale. "No I have hair. Thank you." It is no wonder she thought I had no hair left after the horrible cut. Then I was bombarded regarding all the possiblities I could enjoy there such as reflex therapy, pedicure and manicure. Ok, so I cheat on my hair stylist but does that mean I am simply a cheater? I just had my nails and pedicure done and it is fresh. Was that not noticed? I am hoping my hair will soon dry so I can run for the door. I ponder if I should anyway. I think of my stylist who decided to take a day off. He is going to enjoy me telling him about this cheating day. He loves my stories. He keeps my first book in his dresser at home. He simply loves,"Hey Guy Buy Me." At least I know two men love it. Maybe three. Of course they are all secure men. Anyhow, I left the hair salon as I heard echos of see me soon. They did not hear me say anthing except thank you. I went home and called family to make me feel better. It didn't work but it is nice to have family for situations like this. I woke up this morning forgetting all about the haircut until I looked in the mirror. I put on make up asap. I need to buy better make up. What bad timing? Anyhow, if you want to see me at my worse, come to "Word on The Street" and you can make me feel better by having me sign one of the books you are going to buy from me. Please do not mention my hair. This is one time, I do not want to know what you think. Have a good week. My next couple of weeks are going to be fantastic if I do not look in the mirror. My poor hair.