Day #8 - All for a Buck

As usual, I am up early. I am wasting time on Facebook re-reading old posts and notes and catching up on the people who are not on my news feed but whom I can't seem to delete altogether. My phone buzzes with a text message from my friend Nic: Ask The New Husband if he wants 30 bucks to help me clean for two hours...I have to clean this shit hole.

In the end, I let him sleep and I went over instead and got to work. It was not, in fact, a shit hole. I've seen those. But the fifteen bucks an hour meant that perhaps now I could not feel guilty about the small things - like those lunches out because I'm too lazy to pack them - or something equally dull.

The New Husband stopped by not long after and said he'd use the opportunity of having me out of the house to clean our own. Not that it was in dire need of anything.

Afterwards, "So can we go to Bed Bath and Beyond to return that broken gift so we can get the new set," I asked.

"Sure."

"Okay, so I'll take you out to lunch with my earnings from today."

"Didn't you say you wanted my help to control your spending?"

"Yes."

"So here it is: use that money for something you need, like gas in your car, and not for lunch. We don't need to go out for lunch today."

I sigh. He's right. "Okay." I pause. "So can I get my hair cut instead?"

He sighs. "I thought you were growing it out to donate it."

"I was, but look at it! It's all knotted. I can't do anything with it. I hate it. I don't like it this long."

"Yeah, but I love your long hair."

"Can we compromise? I mean, it's hair. It will grow back."

"What's the deal?"

"I'll cut it, but not too short. Just enough to get these stupid ends under control and to give it some actual style so I'm not just throwing it up in a bun every day."

"Okay, let's go."

I know better than to have my hair done at SuperCuts. This one time, right after I was married to my now ex-husband I'd gone into one in Central Florida and asked for a perm. I'd come out with hair that was so short I looked like I'd had an afro. It was awful. But since I've moved to Boston and am no longer friends with my Newbury Street hairdresser and am, in fact, trying to buy a house (which means saving money is key, right?), I decided to give it a try. In truth, I'd had my hair trimmed there once before and the girl was awesome. However, that girl was not on the schedule today when we arrived.

"I don't think you should let any of them cut your hair," the New Husband advised.

I had a knot in my stomach, but the urge to get this mane under control far outweighed common sense. "I know, but I can't take it. I won't go too short, I promise."

I show the girl a photo of an Ashley Simpson-esque cut with lots of layers, fringe and sharp razor edges. It was still a medium to long length, so I wasn't going to lose much length, but would lose a considerable amount of volume - something I don't mind with my thick Sicilian hair.

Everything had been going fine. Then, she whipped the cape off, announced I was done and asked if I liked it. "No, actually, I don't."

"Well what's wrong with it," she asked, starting to get defensive.

"Everything is fine except the bangs."

"Well I don't know what the problem is."

"The bangs," I repeated. In the photo they're well into her cheek area and on my head, they're above my eyebrow.

"Well that's because in that picture, her bangs are flat ironed and waxed."

"But you did that to me and my bangs are cut too short."

"Well that's because in the picture, they brought the long layers from the crown of her head over her eye."

Now I'm furious. "Listen, why can't you just admit that you messed up my bangs and let's move on? It's hair, it will grow back and in six weeks I will love them, but for now, you cut them too short."

"Well fine, then don't pay for the cut! It's free!"

"I don't need to scam a free cut from SuperCuts,"I exclaimed, "Fortunately for you I'm not the kind of person who does shit like that." I got up, threw $25 on the counter and stormed out.

The New Husband exclaimed, "I told you not to let anyone other than Jess cut your hair there!"

"Yeah, I know!"

Once we were in the car and I'd calmed down a little bit, I asked, "So what do you think of it other than the bangs?"

"Other than the bangs, it looks great. I can actually get my fingers through it now."

This, my friends, is why we ladies should never follow our impulses, especially when they are so strong that they override our good sense.