The haircut.

We teach our students to use the article “the” when there is only one of something. I think I just got “the haircut”...meaning the one and only haircut I will get while here in Italy. Now, I am not one to normally give too much thought to my hair, especially since it is in a ponytail 99.9% of the time. I realize haircuts are necessary, and I usually wait until it is absolutely necessary before I get one. Well, after 5 months, it was time. I love the process of getting a hair cut - from the shampoo scalp massage to the light airy feeling on my head when leaving the salon, and the perfected style that only a professional stylist is capable of achieving. However, this time, was an exception. I went to a salon that falsely advertised that their stylists spoke English. In my broken Italian and a magazine photo in hand of a style similar to the one I wanted, I was confident that I managed to communicate what I needed to the man in charge of cutting my hair. I enjoyed my fabulous shampoo scalp massage and felt pretty good about the place I selected, even though they knew maybe 1 word of English and that one word was “haircut”. The man and I made light conversation, as I pulled out all my basic vocabulary - where I’m from, who I am here with, where I live, etc, etc. Sean has been encouraging this haircut lately, and I think it has more to do with him wanting me to just get out there and speak Italian any chance I can get. Well, he hasn’t seen my hair yet tonight, and I am thinking about telling him this is what I asked for in crystal clear Italian, but then again, I am not a good actress either. So, the man cut about 4 inches off and I thought it looked pretty good and he was finished.... until... he decided to start chopping the front of my hair in these alleged “layers” that turned out to look more like huge steps, if that makes sense. The first chunk, and by chunk I mean handful of hair he chopped to about my chin, I gasped loudly and held my breath for longer than I probably should have. Unable to hide any emotion on my face, or the sweat building on my forehead, the man stopped. We established that this was not exactly what I wanted and that he should maybe just even out the other side and wrap this up. With shaking hands after a near heart attack from my expression, he finished “chunking” or whatever it was he was doing to the other side. I smiled and said “perfecto”, and left the salon, thinking this isn’t anything a rubber band can’t fix, right? So, I immediately put in my famous ponytail only to find that all the hair closest to my face wouldn’t even fit in the pony tail. To make a long story shorter, I look like I have wings - like I could fly away with the hair next to my face. Interesting. Good thing I have hair clips and bobby pins to keep it all back and in order, but that was definitely an experience I would like not to repeat.