First I got my haircut -- it was much needed. In talking to my stylist, I learned that her husband used to be a Secret Service agent on President Obama's detail. Apparently the job is very, very stressful and the attrition rate is very high. He no longer is in the SS, but has an equally interesting and very top secret job which I won't divulge...I will say it is very "Lie to Me"-ish. The salon I frequent is rather posh.
In contrast to my salon, Mr. BikeMan took Ilsa to "The Beauty Salon" for a much-needed haircut. While not posh, it is very friendly but an anachronism harkening back to a much slower time. The salon has been in the same location for 47 years. The woman who cut her hair had been working there the entire time. Ilsa must have lowered the average age of the customers by 70 years the second she walked through the door, but the blue-haired ladies getting their once-a-week sets absolutely LOVED her.
The salon furniture was exactly as you would imagine: white cabinets with gold 1960's filagree detailing, combs in tall jars filled with that blue chemical...and someone was getting a real perm -- I haven't smelled perm solution in a beauty salon that I have frequented in years.
The beautician used old-fashioned aerosol hairspray in a can to set her hair. Mr. BikeMan said she smelled like an old lady whose name would be "Hazel," so now we have dubbed the haircut Hazel-Hair.
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