by Courtney Alexis Packard

Created on: March 03, 2009

There are just no words to describe my hair...literally. That's what the hairdresser told me. I sat down in her awkward barber's chair, timidly twirling my brown locks, and held out my printed copy of Jennifer Aniston's famous, long locks (yes, leave it to me to still be going after her hair almost five years after the show ended). The hairdressers dismissed the picture with a wave of her manicured hand and said, "Yes, I know what you're looking for". She then proceeded to pull my pony tail holder from my hair and watched in a mixture of horror and contempt as my hair spilled over my shoulders and down my chest. Self-conciously I murmured, "I just can't ever seem to get it to do anything. It just kind of sits there and has no-"...

"Yes, yes, your hair has no nothing!", she interrupted. "It's just so...", she made a face, then an irritated sigh. "There aren't even words to describe it." Feeling shamed, I started to apologize for its condition, but she dismissed me with a flip of her shoulder-length, blond bob. "We just need to add some fullness and more layers. Gotta try to make it do something."

I think hairdressers are a lot like men. How many times have you heard your girlfriends complaining about what a jerk their boyfriend is, and yet she falls all over herself to be with him? Ya, hairdressers are like that for me. Instead of being completely offended and storming out of the salon, I soaked up the abuse and ended up buying thirty dollars worth of salon-brand shampoo from her. She claimed that even smelling a main stream hair product from Wal-Mart would make my hair burst into flames. I felt a deep need to please her, so I quitely obliged and asked what else I could to make her stop hating my whimpy split ends.

While she snipped and clipped my hair I sat in an obedient silence, quietly reprimanding my hair for being so dang lifeless and dull. I would occasionally peek at myself in the giant, flourescent lighted mirror (but only occasionally because I was a little nervous about making eye contact with my mistress) and as I watched pieces of me fly away from my head and cascade to the salon tile like pillow feathers, I began to feel ugly. All these months and I've been wearing my hair all wrong. I've looked dull and lifeless and had no idea. I got married with my hair like this. How come no one told me? I began to think of past outfit and dinners with friends- had they noticed how bad I looked? It's funny too because as I was walking into the salon wearing my

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