I thought a hair cut would be a treat, the eight year old was not convinced.
PUBLISHED: 10:31 08 January 2019
I thought a hair cut would be a treat, Thalia was not convinced.
I thought a trip to the hair salon would be a treat for the girls.
One loved the pampering. I don’t think the other will be welcomed back.
When I booked two wet cut and dry appointments the stylist said they usually just dampened children’s hair to cut it. But I insisted Keola and Thalia would love the full hair salon experience – and their curly hair needs to be soaking to get a comb through it.
They haven’t been to a hair salon for about 18 months, but last time they both seemed to enjoy it. Keola sat and watched, closely, to see how they created such an even finish. She knew I had once cut big sister Sunny’s hair and had several attempts to try and level the length. I told the then teenage Sunny it was ‘disconnected’, a phrase bandied about by cool and funky hair stylists at the time but not usually to describe a slightly wonky (Sunny would say very wonky) hair cut.
Thalia, then six, sat and chatted, continually, about whatever came into her head and the young stylist kept smiling and nodding – the perfect audience.
So I thought this trip would be a winter treat. A sit back in the chair and have your hair washed with lovely smelly goop and your scalp massaged and someone to ask how you are, grown up treat.
Rob was in charge, which the stylist sounded slightly daunted about when I told her.
“Make sure he knows exactly how much I’m to cut off,” she said. I guess she’d had an experience with dads, children, hair styles and possibly a fuming mother before.
Rob said Keola loved it. She liked the hair washing, someone else combing her hair and the grown-up treatment.
Thalia was a different client altogether. She didn’t like the chair and she didn’t want to lie back for the hair wash. She was convinced she was going to drown, or it would be too hot or she’d get water in her eyes, or bubbles near her eyes. She contorted herself into such a position that the water went down her back and the stylist had to dry her off with a hairdryer.
She didn’t like the stylist’s hair brushes or combs; she’d taken her own along but it’s more of a smoothing brush and after all her wriggling her hair needed serious detangling.
She made it very clear, very vocally, that she didn’t like the scissors, the seat, the mirror, the comb, having to hold her head still, the stylist touching her head, Daddy looking at her, Keola looking at her or the other people in the salon looking at her.
I’m not sure the folded arms and scowling helped but the stylist was wonderfully patient and did a beautiful job.
They left. I think everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
“Sunny did all that once,” I told Rob as he recounted the afternoon.
He gave me one of those looks.
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