A note to my hair stylist

Confession: I hate what you did//will do//have ever done to my hair.

But in all honesty, you never even had a chance.

I will be the first to admit I am your worst customer.  I come in to your salon with my frizzed-out, combination hair that hasn't been touched by a professional in at least nine months and expect you to work wonders God alone could fix, and unless I walk out of your place looking like Jennifer Aniston with a "do" that only takes me 20 minutes to style in the morning using absolutely no product, I am not going to be happy with what you've done.

My apologies.

It's not you.  It's me.

 No, really.  I'm what you'd call unrealistic.

My expectations are wildly unreasonable when it comes to certain things.  Like hair.   How much I can really eat at a dinner buffet.  And Will Ferrell movies.

To name just a few.

Within a few days I'll get used to your interpretation of "layers and a trim."  I might even love it.  But that doesn't change the initial look of disappointment on my face I can't seem to mask no matter how hard I try to smile and say "don't worry, my allergies make me sob like this."

Again, so, so sorry.

I'll try to make up for it in my tip.   Even though, um, I still don't know how much you tip your hair-doer despite having access to the internet even right now where I can look up tipping etiquette for every imaginable situation.

But you could say this is just what you have to get used to being a professional and all.

I'm a professional felt ball maker and you don't see me gettin' all bend out of shape when people walk into my booth at a craft fair and laugh at all the "cute little pom-poms!!" or say loud enough for every possible customer to hear that "those things must be SO itchy ohmigawsh."

No.

You're right, I do get bent.  And whiney.

I'll try harder, future hair stylist.