a short new do

Last November I upgraded to Cedric at aka Cedric for haircuts.  Or rather, I went to Cedric, loved his precision and artistry, and then couldn’t afford to go back.  But this Mother’s Day he is running a 30% off promotion and I immediately book an appointment.

I arrive with little makeup and unshaped wild hair.  But not a pretty kind of wild.

I ask Cedric what he’d do with my hair, and he says, “I’d go shorter, about two inches.”  Oh, I’m not sure.  This feels major.  I know he hasn’t suggested a short bob or pixie cut, but two inches is the difference between a decent ponytail and a tiny one.  But then, maybe a change is what I need.  I tell him to go ahead.

And I love the results. 

As I am paying, multiple phones start ringing.  “Oh, it’s just a government alert about flash floods,” someone says.  This doesn’t pertain to Manhattan, I think.

I walk outside to thunder and lightning and a massive downpour.  I’m wearing my Lululemon raincoat with a great zip-up hood.  Everything from my knees down is drenched within seconds.  And I can feel my hair getting wet as the rain seems to be coming straight at my face.  Fifth Avenue even looks deserted.

I see a cab and jump in to save my hair. It doesn't quite work.