I went to the salon yesterday to get my hair trimmed, thinking everything would go as it normally does. A little snip snip here, a little snip snip there, and I’d walk out looking like the same old Charisse, just a little neater. But boy was I wrong.
Yesterday, at 3:30 p.m., I walked into the Ultra Lux salon on Aviation Blvd. with a left-side part.
And at 4:15 p.m., I walked out with a right-side part.
Now while this may not seem very monumental to some of you, it surely is to me. I’ve been parting my bangs on the left side of my head for as many years as I can remember. They naturally go that way now. I don’t even have to comb them. But I suppose with years of parting on one side comes years of damage to the hair on that side, and after fifteen minutes of my stylist begging me to switch my part and give my hair a chance to recover, I relented. After all, it can’t be that different, I told myself.
Well, people, it is. It’s a very big difference, and a difference I’m not sure I’m completely comfortable with just yet. Regardless of the fact that it creates this nice swoosh-like thing on my forehead that my sister and boyfriend both assure me is uber stylish, I just can’t shake my fear that it’s a little too Donald Trump. (And it doesn't help that I sort of feel like I have a small, furry animal resting just above my eyes.)
When I walked outside to go to lunch today, the wind blew and I could feel my bangs racing back over to the side where they feel most comfortable. When I grabbed them and hauled them back over to the side that is their new home, I couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for them. Change is hard sometimes. I should know. I'm the one wearing it on my forehead.