Breakups are tough, but this last one leaves me feeling especially awkward.
You see, my ex works one block from me. Eventually, I am going to bump into the ex and have the talk of why I ended it.
I wonder if the ex even knows it’s over. But after a few more weeks go by, it will probably be clear. I could never stay away too long.
In case you’re wondering, I’m talking about my ex-hairstylist, the woman who used to cut my hair, highlighted it, and – once a month – colored the grays along my temples that I’ve had since I was 22.
She and I had been together for nearly a year. During that time, I felt like our relationship was growing.
I liked her acquiescent manner; she was always calm and chipper. I admired those qualities.
Plus I liked the way she styled my hair. Most of the time I walked out of the salon swinging my hair like a woman in a shampoo commercial.
There was one haircut fiasco, where I wound up with chop-chop bangs. But I blamed it on myself. If only I had explained better what I wanted. Communication is vital in a relationship.
When that happened, I didn’t stray. I told myself I needed to ride out the rough times.
But then one day, she ditched me, and I knew I couldn’t forgive that.
Here’s what happened: I went in for a highlight retouch and wound up with these awful red streaks at the crown of my head. I tried to live with it, but I knew something was up when people I encountered would stare at my head with confusion.
Three days later, I returned to get it fixed. But this time, after using bleach to remove the red, I came out looking like Andy Warhol’s twin.
There she was, washing my hair, and telling me the color came out really well, and when I returned to her chair and looked in the mirror I saw a mop of brittle platinum.
I thought, OK, maybe once it’s dry it won’t look so hideous. Halfway through the drying process, when my hair didn’t magically return to a shade of brown, I knew I had to call off the charade.
Denial is bad for any relationship, but in this case it would’ve meant my walking out the door like I was some Shakira wannabe.
Squealing “My hair looks horrible!” seemed to jolt her back to reality.
She apologized, and I, understanding that mixing chemicals can bring unexpected results, was fine with it – until she gave me the shaft.
She had had a new client coming in, so she pawned me off on another stylist at the salon, someone I’d never met.
We got the color back to a normal state, but the damage was done: My hair was fried, and the trust was gone.
I almost went back. I think sometimes we go back to people who aren’t good for us just because they’re familiar. But I resisted.
I’m seeing someone new. He’s just as stylish, and hip, and in one visit made my hair look healthier. We can relate on another level: He understands the woes of having grays. He told me he dyes his sideburns and moustache every Saturday morning. And, as an unexpected bonus, my new stylist reads the paper. For obvious reasons, I’m attracted to newspaper readers. They tend to care about the world around them, and they’re interesting to talk to.
The breakup was good for me. It made me realize there are better people out there. You just have to go out and look for them.
Cindy Rodríguez’s column appears Tuesdays and Thursdays. Contact her at crodriguez@denverpost.com or 303-820-1211.
