You can’t beat a name like Cha Cha
After a series of very, very bad cheap haircuts, I started cutting my own hair during my sophomore year of high school. If I was going to have a shitty haircut, I might as well save the cash, right?
I was never any good at it. I peaked my senior year. Then when I was living on campus, I no longer had my perfect mirror arrangement, and it wasn’t pretty. By that point, I was dyeing my hair, too. I wasn’t any good at that either.
After my sophomore year in college, I came to my senses. I asked Mom to get me an appointment with her hair stylist, Cha Cha.
My mom loves Cha Cha, and Cha Cha loves my mom. And if my mom loves someone that much, there’s a good reason.
So Cha Cha bleached out two years of dark red dye, dyed me back to my natural color and gave me a proper haircut. It was the hair equivalent of those pet rescue shows on Animal Planet.
So for the past year an a half, I have faithfully kept the scissors far away from my head. And when the temptation comes back, I make another appointment with Cha Cha. She truly understands my hair’s Special Needs. And she gives me free Diet Coke.
After toying around with the idea of growing it all out, I had her take off a few inches this week. And I’ve already booked her to do my hair before my wedding next year.
But I’m moving to Spokane after graduation, and I’m afraid Cha Cha won’t want to come with me, and I know I can’t replace her. I need someone better than the “I finally passed the state certification test on the eleventh try!” weirdos at the chain haircut factories without going to Jonathan Antin extremes.
Mom asked, “Why don’t you just ask other people where they get their hair cut?”
Because, Mom, I need something more sophisticated than that.
I need an epinions for hair stylists. Badly.
