My hair

Two years ago, my friend Susan introduced me to a salon that specializes in curly hair. At the time, I was getting haircuts in a local salon near my house that specializes in mostly unimaginative styling. My hair had changed over the years and I'd given up on ever having curls again. I whined about missing my curls and wanting to let it grow, but somehow, I always walked out of there with the same short, blow-dried-straight, middle-aged-suburban do I saw in every chair around me. I wondered whose head it was anyway!

The first time I went to Devachan, Susan was getting her hair cut there. Whereas every salon I've ever been in washed hair first before cutting it, Rosie cut Susan's hair dry. She stared intently as she trimmed and placed each curl in its proper place on Susan's head. She was an artist finding the balance that perfectly set off Susan's face.

Rose looked up from Susan's hair long enough to comment on my nice curly hair. She won me over. I made the soonest appointment I could, and I've spent the past two years growing and nurturing the curls Rosie managed to unleash.

This evening I went to Devachan again for an impromptu consultation. My doctor says I'm going to lose my hair from the chemo. I went to the place I'm so fond of for advice about buying and caring for a wig. I got the information I need to go shopping this weekend. Then I'll take the wig back there for styling so I'll be ready to put it on when I lose my hair. I just don't fancy the thought of appearing in public bald.