Did you hear the one about the Aggie who went to the blind hairstylist?

Tonight I got to leave my house all by myself and get a hair cut. Now, M is the seventh stylist I've been to since we moved here 3 1/2 years ago. She's really nice and does what I ask. I feel like she listens to what I say and, besides the fact that she always tries to sell me overpriced hair products, I enjoy my time with her.

Now, I've documented my hair angst before. I know, I know, everyone frets about their hair, but my hair is really hard to manage. It is extremely thick, coarse, and not really straight, but not even wavy, anymore. While I was pregnant with Addi, my hair got some extra wave to it. Then when I got pregnant with Libby, it became stick straight. Now it's a mix of the two. Not exaclty what all the fashionistas are sporting this season.

I adore long, flowing, shiny hair. My hair, no matter how many years I spent growing it, would never be flowing and shiny. I've accepted that and it's okay. It does mean, however, that I have to be careful in selecting styles. Just because I wear my hair shorter doesn't mean I want to look like a man. Or much older than my actual age.

About 2 stylists ago, I decided a picture might be the best way to describe the look I was going for. It was only the second time I had seen J and while he did okay the first time, I thought we needed a little more than just my verbal communication to really get the results I was looking for.

I handed J the picture while saying something like, "This is exactly how I want my hair."

After much staring and squinting, J moved over to a window and explained he needed to get where the light was better because he had a bad eye.

Yep, you read that correctly. The man I was paying to cut my hair so short the strands couldn't possible reach the back of my head to be thrown into a ponytail, was, apparently, partially blind.

And it didn't take this Aggie long to figure out that a blind hairstylist wasn't my friend.