It’s a dangerous thing for me to get my hair cut when I’m having a bad day. Add to that bad day frizzy, uncontrollable hair due to weather and general hair styling ineptitude, and voila! I’m begging for a close shave to the scalp.

So it was that day, Saturday, that I plodded into the place where I get my hair cut, basically an in-out shop where cuts are cheap and appointments unnecessary, and the place was jammed. My mane was a tangled mess of usual nastiness and I was rather dismayed that no one was available. I noticed an empty chair at the same time the reception-person mentioned that “C” was available if I was interested. I had no idea who “C” was and I was desperate, so one shit-yeah later and I’m being walked to the back just as “C” is walking out.

“C” is the shop’s lone black stylist. I normally see her only working with the black clientele, and by the look on her face when she saw who was sitting in her chair, I gathered that assessment to be correct.

“C” sighed an “okay, here we go” under her breath and asked what she could do for me. I replied that I would be most grateful if she could just shave my head. This provoked a laugh and off we went. I relayed the long, sad, and troubled history of my hair: red (obviously), wavy (and not in a good way), thick (duh), and too much of it (obviously). I have straightened, permed, dyed and tortured my hair for eons and it simply will not obey. As such, I wish it banished from my existence.

“C” laughs, inspects and pronounces that I’ve been styling my wrong. This, I’ve heard before, but I let her do her thing nonetheless. Only, there’s a snag to my rhetoric this time. This time, someone, “C”, is actually right about my hair.

“C” shows me how to blow dry my hair, how to use the straight iron and and what temperature, what shampoo to use, what ingredients to look for, what conditioner to use, and what styling products to use and not use, and what kind of brush I need. “C” then teased me about being the “whitest, white girl with ‘sister’ hair”, rang me up and sent me along my utterly grateful way.

Normally, this is all yeah, yeah, whatever, but the here’s the thing: my hair has looked awesome 3 washings since Saturday. It’s straight, it’s smooth, it’s shiny like effen gossamer, and it only took half the amount of time to dry (it usually takes a full 45 minutes to dry my damn hair). Humidity? No problem. Ride a bike to work? Hair is still straight by the time I get there.

I’ve blogged before about trying to clean up my beauty routine act, and my hair is always this biggest bump when traveling down that rocky road. How lame is it that it never occurred to me see someone who would specialize in dealing with hair like mine? Doesn’t matter, now, what does matter is results. It’s so insanely stupid to write this, but I do feel like a whole new person.

So thanks a million “C”, you’ve done this “sister” a solid and have got a client for life.

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