Once upon a time, a girl got a haircut...

So this was going to be a blog post a few months ago, but first it was too painful and then I forgot...but now, I have a fairy-tale happy ending to go with it, so I'm read to share.

I had a love/hate relationship with getting my hair cut. I love, love, loved my stylist and the way she cut my hair (she's extremely sweet, kind and stylish without being pretentious, and she must have a pair of elvish scissors). I did not enjoy the salon experience. I blogged about this a couple years ago, and there was not much change. Until about 2 months ago. I had an appointment set with my precious Kelli, and 2 days before said appointment, I got a call from the snooty salon receptionist informing me that Kelli was no longer there, and she would schedule me with another stylist. "Oh, no, no, no," I replied and asked if they could tell me where she was. No. I told them that I would continue to use their other spa services (Ha! A total of 2 bikini waxes) if they would tell me where she was. To no avail. Kelli was lost to me. Forever, I thought.

Okay, backing up just a little bit, a couple weeks before the failed appointment, I had seen Kelli from across the room at a new church that Bill and I were visiting (and proceeded to really like and decided to start attending regularly). So I was all happy that my hair budget was going to a Christian to boot. And then, after the failed hair appointment, Bill and I had a busy few weeks (trip to China, move, surgery), and hadn't been to church every week. The weeks we were there, I kept my eye open for her but did not see her (and felt a bit guilty for spending more time looking around before the service started than preparing my heart for worship, but that's neither here nor there).

Well, I was starting to look a bit like a ragamuffin about 6 weeks ago, so I finally relented and called another salon. I first checked if they had any Kellis there. No. I got a so-so haircut, and I accepted my hair fate. Even if those around me couldn't tell a difference (I've got some mad Chi skills), I could. It was just harder to style when Kelli hadn't cut it.

Sooooooo...this morning, I walked into church and sat down. I pulled out my bulletin and started reading it. Then, Bill pokes me and says, "Isn't that your old hairstylist?" It was like a spotlight shot down from the ceiling and a chorus of pre-pubescent boys started singing as I saw Kelli sitting directly in front of me.

Well, long story short, Ellen and Jason met us there, and I poked Ellen (who I had introduced to Kelli's fabulous skill and who had been left in a similar despondent lurch as myself) and said, "Look! It's Kelli!" Well, needless to say, we practically pounced on her after the service--actually, I tapped her shoulder and said, "Kelli?" rather sheepishly, and she gave me a big hug and said that she had tried to call me before she left, but she couldn't get to her client records (which I understand why the salon owner did, but it still grieved my heart).

So the fabulous news is this: she's opened her own salon with a couple friends in a little house right around the corner, and she said it's completely laidback and pretty much the opposite of the frenetic, industrial atmosphere of the old salon. I have her cell number safely tucked into my wallet, and I hope to have an appointment in my planner by tomorrow.

And my hair lived happily ever after.