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Destinations, Dreams and Dogs - International adventure with a fast-track family (& dogs) of Old World values, adopting the Russian-Italian-American good life on the go…!

Hair-Raising Haircuts

 During our stint as Hurricane Sandy refugees, the girls and I decided to get haircuts.  Sashenka had her Big Event coming up soon, and we all needed a trim.  This was the beginning of sorrows.

Who in their right mind gets a haircut before an Event?  Many folks, I imagined.  Perhaps I was wrong.  The girls came out fine.  I, on the other hand….

You know that Mashenka has a history when it comes to hair (http://tinyurl.com/ah2nlr9).  She prefers to wear it in early Brillo-pad style:  wavy, frizzy, the less effort, the better.  She came to us from Russia as a preteen with colored hair (?!) shaped in a bowl haircut.  Not so cute.  Now, at age 14.5, she still preferred to play the helpless role.  Okay.

“What would you like the stylist to do?” I venture.

“Ahrn know,” replies the pirate-wannabe, which would translate to “I don’t know”, which is her response to anything and everything.

“Pardon me?”

“I DON’T know.”

“Alright, think about it.  The haircut can be a trim, it doesn’t have to be anything new or unusual….”

It takes her three days to come to that conclusion.

Her younger sister Sashenka, just turned 12, decides she wants bangs.  She’s always wanted bangs because that’s how she came home.  She had bangs and a short shag, similar to a blond, Caucasian Tina Turner.  Her hair was not her best feature.

“Honey, in the U.S., the girls don’t wear the straight-across bangs very much,” I offer, thinking about the problems she has keeping hair out of her face on most any day.

She decides on a layered look, much more layered than her current style, and I agree that she might have a fringe, sideswept bang across her forehead, as well.  Wrong move, but that’s what headbands and barrettes are for.

For me, I want a trim.

We enter the salon with high hopes.

We exit:  Sashenka, happy as a clam, Mashenka, sailing high, moi, shorn and devastated. How a trim turned out this way….  I look like a middle-aged mother of four.

I AM a middle-aged mother of four.  How did THAT happen?

Deep depression.

The shoulder-length bob appears a far cry from my normal, face-layering, longish look.  I try to rise above, and turn toward my stellar, inner resources, and other good qualities.

I end up eating a lot.  Now I am a puffy-body, puffy-hair, middle-aged mother of four, with a Major Event coming up this week.

I’m not sure a new pair of shoes can solve this one.




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