After about 2.5 years, today seemed like a good day to get a haircut. I liked my stylist, a bubbly towheaded girl named Jessica. She started out the encounter by asking me about my preferences regarding length, hair products, etc.
She was aghast as she realized that there were no styling products or hair dryers in my possession, and no plans to acquire them for the future. Throughout the encounter, she kept muttering "I would go insane..." To her credit, I'm quite satisfied with her work. It's shorter than it was, she didn't put any weird gels or creams into it, and it's long enough to tie up when necessary.
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It took me years to train my excellent hairstylist not to try to sneak gel or wax or some other "product" into my hair after a cut. Now she gets that if I actually comb then it's a good day.
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