I last had my hair done a couple of weeks before the Sweden trip. One never wants to go anywhere special with freshly cut hair because you just never know what may happen. So, being overdue for my appointment, I happily call my salon in Minneapolis thinking how much fun it will be to update Amy (my stylist) on everything that has been going on. She's my pal....she's my bud...right? Then I hear the words that will strike fear into any woman, "I'm sorry but Amy is no longer with our company." Shock! Horror! Gasp!

This cannot be true. Amy would never leave me! Say it isn't so. "Miss, I can recommend another stylist", the so cheeful-she-needs-to-be-slapped receptionist says to me. I stammer and shakily decline the offer. I hang up the phone as my heart sinks. She's gone. No note. No phone call. Nothing. Amy has left me. I sit and stare at the wall for five minutes. I go to the bathroom to look into the mirror. I'm overdue. It has been seven weeks already. One week overdue. I am not fit for public viewing. ( I take my coiff very seriously folks ) I decide I need at least one day to mourn the loss before making the decision...find another stylist. God help me.

I awoke feeling brave. To hell with Amy! I will find someone new. (gulp) I choose a salon owned by a woman I've known most of my life. She ran a salon with my mother for many years and Mom suggested I try there. After Amy I only want someone who was trained at the Aveda Institute which is one of the best in the country. Something tells me this small city will not afford me that option. The salon I choose claims to be "an Aveda concept salon". I am hopeful.

I make an appointment with a woman named, Lauren. It's a nice name. I pray that is a favorable omen. After chain smoking 2 cigarettes on the way there I can barely bring myself to go inside. "please God don't let her ruin me."


Lauren is well coiffed which gives me hope. I tell her my situation and she promises to be gentle with me since it is our first time. As I smile and make small talk I am frantically looking around her station for her beautician license. I spot it but there is no indication of what school she attended. (If she ruins me I will kill her. They will not find the body.)

Lauren preps my hair to be colored and I noticed she is shaking. Oh great...she has probably been told by her boss that I cry hysterically if my hair is not done right. I had issues when I was younger and my mother would not get my hair just right. I had no problem balling like a baby in public then. My mother's fellow stylists would stare in shock. Lauren knows this...I can feel it. Ok ok so it might be paranoia on my part. I get this. Work with me here.

Ms. Lauren announces that she wishes to "get this just right" for me. NOW I'm scared. When the stylist is showing fear that is usually the time to run screaming for the door.

side note: Amy always had me cut, colored, and out the door in ONE HOUR.

An hour and a half later......LAUREN IS ONLY HALF DONE. I kid you not! She was sucking my will to live she went so slowly. It was at this point I read her license more closely. She graduated less than a YEAR ago! For the next 45 minutes my silent mantra is "don't cry don't cry don't cry".

FINALLY my hair is being rinsed and Lauren gasps and says "oh my god it looks great! It turned out!" Are you kidding me?! Does this bitch have a death wish?!

We get back to a mirror and I see that yes indeed my hair looks very nearly like Amy's work. I am relieved and cancel my plans for the hitman. Lauren is beaming she is so proud when I tell her it looks fabulous and I leave her a huge tip. Lauren lives to see another day.

My kingdom for an Aveda girl. I hope you rot in hell Amy.