The Stylist

I went for my quarterly clip yesterday with Jackie. I don't think she would mind if I shared her name because that's just the kind of gal she is. I know that Jackie has to wonder about my grooming habits. Everytime I go see her, I seem to have my hair in a clip and look like I haven't cared in days. I think she takes great pride in primping me up. As divulged a few posts ago, we lost fancy awhile back. Yesterday, the choice came down to washing my hair twice--a little redundant I thought--or letting her wash my hair and having time to vacuum. I think I chose the better part because the floor was quite crumby.

As soon as I got there, the chatter began as if I had just seen her two days ago. How are my kids, how are her kids? Is this a gift of hair stylists? I'm just wondering because most seem to do it. Perhaps it's on the stylist aptitude test. Yesterday we discussed her stepdaughter's tattoos and piercings. Interesting. And thankfully right now, I don't have alot of motherly experience to contribute but I did my duty to hold up my end of the conversation equation. What is it about stylists that invites disclosure? I'm not complaining, I like it. Who wants to spend an hour with someone who is right up in your face not saying a word? Dentists try to do it but it never works out the same.

And it goes both ways. I tell Jackie about my life and although I'm not sharing anything requiring FBI clearance (I did have an FBI agent visit my home about some clearance issues last year but that's a story for another post. "Oh hi Corbin, say, can I call you back? I'm just here with an FBI agent. Yes, he's at the house. No worries, it's all good.") , I somewhat expect the information exchange to be kept on a semi-confidential level, despite the lack of an official hair stylist code of conversational ethics. It seems to work ok.

Maybe it's something about letting someone else see you with your hair all funny that breaks down the barriers. Whatever it is, it's good.