Susan HATES

Susan's hairdresser, the one with the fig tree, had the audacity to be unavailable with when Susan's hair was in dire need of attention.

At a previous appointment Susan was sent home with two bottles of color and a bottle of peroxide so that she could do things herself, she tucked them away for a gray day.

Fast forward to right now.

Susan measured out the pungent chemicals using a shot glass and mixed them with a toothbrush. She didn't have gloves to protect her hands, so she used plastic bags from the supermarket.
She applied the color to her distinguished Mitt Romney temples and waited ten minutes then did the rest of her head. Thirty minutes later she said three Our Fathers in the shower, washed the color out and then checked the results in the mirror.

The color was perfect, she heaved a sigh of relief.

Until she took a closer look, Susan's temples were most definitely still gray. Not as gray as before her DIY dye job, but gray enough that she had to do them over.
Argggh.

Susan's hairdresser is a friend of her little sister who works out of her home. Sometimes Susan runs into her sister, or her sister's neighbor, and they all chat and have a nice time while Susan's gray is being covered with a close approximation of her original color.

Susan's daughter also likes the hairdresser because she takes the time to listen to the daughter in order to determine how to effectively showcase her curls. Additionally, during the course of conversation the hairdresser has been known to side with the daughter against Susan and the daughter finds this betrayal of her mother appealing.

Often, appointments overlap and Susan will chat with the lady who is vacating the chair into which Susan's ass will be flopping. It's all very pleasant and neighborly and Susan never feels put out by having to interact with a stranger for a few minutes.

Today Susan took the daughter for a trim and got ambushed by the previous client, an extreme talker. Ten minutes went by and the extreme talker kept talking.
Twenty minutes, still talking.
Finally it was time to pay the bill and leave. Talky Talker walked them out.

Outside Susan realized that she didn't have her car, the husband had dropped them off then left to run an errand. Talky was still talking, trapping Susan on the sidewalk. Even the daughter moved away leaving Susan to fend for herself.

Susan watched Talky's mouth, it kept moving but Susan couldn't focus on what she was saying, she was considering her options. 

Susan dropped to the ground, faked a seizure then grabbed the daughter & bolted up the block when Talky ran inside to call the ambulance.


Ed note:
100% true except for that last sentence.

On day four Susan got her hair cut.
She likes to keep it short, lesbian short. Susan's former therapist said that she made herself a visual target,
why can't Susan just like her hair short?

She goes to a neighborhood place where Kitty cuts her hair for twelve dollars. They each have a boy in the same grade and a girl in the same grade, so they compare disciplinary strategies. Susan and Kitty agree that jumping up & down and screaming is essential for the relaxing after-effect it has on the screamer. It's not so good as a motivational tool.

Susan used to go to a friend's salon and pay forty dollars for the haircut, forty for the color and ten dollars to the girl who washed her hair. But that was one job & a recession ago, now Susan buys a box of L'Oreal #6R and likes the color better.

Periodically Susan gets the impression that some may think her hairstyle too short, but that's alright. Susan's almost fifty (well, next year) and doesn't mind when someone isn't in love with her hair as long as they keep it to themselves.

Can't wait till day five, eh?