This post is part of the April A to Z Blogging Challenge, where I am challenging myself to reflect on other A to Z posts that I come across.
— Read on bethlapinsatozblog.wordpress.com/2018/04/09/hair/
I don’t get my hair cut often, partly because I’m broke and partly because I just don’t put much effort into my hair. Sure I wash it, comb it, etc., but I never got into blow drying it or putting product in it or anything like that. My wake up routine when I have somewhere to go is usually roll out of bed, get dressed, comb hair, walk out the door.
But last week while my partner had an appointment in town, I tagged along and checked out the salon next door. I did very little research before hand and did not make an appointment, despite my best intentions, but they accepted walk-ins and I only had to wait fifteen minutes.
The shampooing my is my favorite part. It’s a glorious scalp massage, with warm water.
The talking is my least favorite part, because I’m awkward as hell. It seems like it would be rude to just sit there in complete silence, especially since they always try to start conversations. But the lady cutting my hair was nice enough. I told her I just wanted a trim because I’m growing my hair out for the wedding next year.
She asked, “Who’s the lucky guy?”
Awkward alert! I’m used to correcting that sort of thing with “lucky girl,” except now my partner is out about transitioning. So there was this pause in which my brain went durrrrrrr for a while, then I think I said something like oh it’s my partner we’ve been together for five years and lived together for three.
After a while she started to catch on that I kept saying partner instead of using pronouns and apologized for being heteronormative. I was so inspired by that I explained that my partner is transitioning and I’m still getting used to the pronoun switch, and we ended up talking about hilarious ways our dudes have been startled awake — mine by a cat biting his nose, hers when she yanked the pillow out from under his head because she was worried he’d roll over on the baby.
I think I’ve posted about this before, now that I’ve written it, but whatever. It’s important. It was a refreshingly good encounter, both in terms of non-awkward acceptance (cough cough my parents are awkward as hell, wonder where I get that from) and me being more talkative while using the new pronouns. It’s just, you never know how people are going to react, you know? This is a pretty liberal town, but still. And… I kind of loathe the idea of being mistaken for straight. We’re a queer couple, but the pronouns no longer indicate that without the extended explanation, and it feels as though my identity gets lost or that I’m lying about it by omission. Both of our identities, really.
So… that’s part of the quandary of getting my hair done now. They always want to talk. I always feel awkward about the talking and end up telling the story about how our last apartment gave me fleas. Every time. It is not a story that makes me sound like a classy person. I don’t know why I always tell that one, it just pops out.
Are there such things as silent hair salons? Because if not, introverts of the world! We should rise up and
demand quietly mumble a request for them!