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The heartache that caused me to start this journey into discovering my writing muse is kicking me up one side and down the other today. It is 95 degrees in the shade. Humidity is a mere 45 percent. And a high pollen alert. The dew point, whatever that is, is off the charts.

I called to see what time an appointment was tomorrow … only to be told that I had one this morning AND one tomorrow. And I really wanted to look presentable. Do you have any idea what high humidity and heat do to naturally curly hair?

Desperate times call for desperate Happy Holly measures.

So I decided that today was the day I would get my hair cut. No significant other in my life to say one way or the other. So I called to see what my hairdresser’s availablility might be today.

She is on vacation this week.

No problem, I’ll just go and have my hair done by another gal … and spring to have my chin waxed. Oh lordy. Did I type that? Yes, one of the drawbacks to getting older appears to be the presence of little hairs on my chinny chin chin. And waxing does the trick. They said nobody was in the shop, so I happily jumped in my car and drove there.

When I got there, there was a forty-five minute wait.

Flash forward an hour later, and a brand new gal (read: incompetent) was assigned to do my hair and chin. As she washed my hair, she was trying to figure out why the wax was not heating up.

She had not turned it on correctly.

This should have been an indication of how my hair and chin would turn out … but I bravely hung in there. After mumbling an apology, she turned it on and suggested that we go do my hair until the wax was ready to go.

Deciding that there definitely was not enough time before my appointment to sit under the blow dryer, she began the task of blowing it dry with some kind of diffuser attachment. And a teeny tiny curling iron. And a comb like device. And … well … other than the bangs which were ironed straight … the rest of it looked only slightly better than the rat’s nest I had walked in with.

OK. Take a deep breath. Not the end of the world. At least you had someone else wash your hair. And you will have a clean chin, right?

So back to the waxing area we went. The wax was ready to go … theoretically. She applied the hot wax and pulled off the material … then said “Uh oh”.

Now I’m no cosmotological expert, but I’m pretty sure “Uh oh” is not the correct response after causing your client intense physical pain. I reached up to my chin … and felt all the hairs, still firmly in place.

Once more she tried … and once more she failed.

At this point she started asking questions … “Is this thing working right today?” She was assured it was. “Is this pink wax the right kind to use?” Yes it was. “Am I doing this right?” Um, no?

After two more tries … on the same area … and one on another area … she decided to ask for help. And was referred to a gal who had once done my hair nicely. She took one look at my hair …

Now if you know anything about hair salons … no matter how hideous your hair might look, the rule of thumb is to loudly proclaim “Oh I LOVE what she has done with your hair.”

This gal took one look at my hair … and remained silent.

Then she looked at my now red chin. “It’s too short now to wax” she said regretfully “But if you want I can pluck each hair out for you.”

OK, even I have a breaking point … and I heard it in the background snapping into a million pieces.

“No that’s OK” I said “Thanks anyway. I really have to be going to my appointment now.”

After promising to come back later to let them do my chin correctly, I paid (no they did not charge me for the wax), quickly ran to my car, and swiped a razor across my chin … as I flew down the road to my appointment.

Some days are harder than others to get a Happy Holly Project.  I think I’ll wait till next week when the real hairdresser comes back and can cut my hair and do my face.

I have a far better idea for a Happy Holly entry for tomorrow anyway.

And as far as today goes, I’ll just go home later and paint some more of my front room to make myself happy. Or iron a basket of clothes. Or clean the toilet. Or some other peachy keen fun type thing.