When J and I first started merging our finances, one of the biggest shocks to him was the amount of money that is spent on the cut, color and general maintenance of my hair. A former Army Ranger, his high and tights were the most demanding style he's ever employed as far as upkeep is concerned.
I'm still the only one who spends any real money on my hair, so don't feel bad about it. H gets his hair cut at home, and J goes to the local chop shop. After the cut pictured here, where H's hairline in the back ended up level with his ears, I decided that maybe I'd be just fine learning the fine art of hair cuttin' since J didn't seem to be as concerned about the end result as I might be.
J's most recent experience at salon de sale resulted in him saying with disdain "I'm not going back to that place." I carefully looked at his hair, and saw no difference in the resulting coif, so asked what happened...
Wait for it...
Yes, the 'stylist' attempted to up-sell. Before you gasp in horror, you have to know that when you pay less than $10 for a hair-cut, they've got to recoup their costs somewhere.
While in the middle of the cut, he'd been asked if he wanted a 'camo'. He asked for clarification and was informed that a 'color camo' is a simple procedure in which your gray is covered...he scoffed in return. "Doesn't your gray bother you?" asked the oh-so-silly woman. Ummmm, no, no it does not.
Actually, J's gray is one of the things that I really like about his hair. It's not the ugly springy grey, but the distinguished silver-flecked temples. Love it. Apparently, the retail-whoring did not end there, as J was then asked if he didn't notice that he had a bit of dry scalp. He agreed that he did, which was why his loving wife doesn't allow him to use the Suave Daily Clarifying that he was oh-so-fond of, and buys Paul Mitchell's Tea Tree instead.
I guess that's not quite good enough, because he was told that he needs to start using the conditioner as well. J was about to walk out mid-snip as he has about an inch of hair at the longest points, and is not exactly what one would call metro-sexual; I've just recently convinced him to stop using bar soap on his face, and to apply moisturizer with SPF...that's as far as it's ever going to go.
He paid for his cut and left, using every reserve of strength not to ask the cigarette-smoke infused diva if he could interest her in any Nicorette gum, as her stench was certainly more of a concern than his gray hair or dry scalp.