I was in 8th grade and feeling both nervous and excited about my first formal dance at school. 8th grade graduation culminated with an evening dance for all of the students at West Intermediate. I was very intimidated by dresses and everything girly. My mom and I went shopping and I found a pair of brown and yellow thinly striped dress pants that matched a button up sleeveless top.
The day of the dance my friends Meghan and Mel took me to the salon with them. I sat down in the big soft black chair and held onto the hard plastic arms for dear life. A man greeted me and asked, "What were you thinking of doing with your hair?" I froze in the moment.
I thought to myself, Me...this man is asking me what I want done with my hair. Didn't HE go to school for this, because I wear a pony tail EVERY day to school. I tried to gently let him know that I was in no way a girly girl and therefor I had no idea what I "wanted" done with my hair.
"Ummm...I like curls and I usually wear it up." I responded quietly.
He took his fingers and weaved them through my hair piling it on top of my head, combing here and there, then letting it fall again to my shoulders. He wrapped his large fingers around a can of hair spray and sprayed a thick cloud of sticky spray over my head. Then he took it section by section and sprayed it even MORE! I was holding in my breath so that I wouldn't offend him by coughing at his "masterpiece".
The male hairstylist then curled each piece of hair perfectly and pinned it into place. Some of the pins slid effortlessly into place while others jabbed into my scalp. As he neared my ears I requested that he leave two pieces down near my ears and curl them. After a few more pins, nips, and blasts of the hairspray my hair was complete. A beautiful pile of curls impeccably placed on the crown of my head. I let out an audible sigh, thanked him and went on my way to prepare for the dance.
