Well, here I am, from the city, a long way from my city, and this is the first time I've been to this city. The city I'm from isn't important because all cities are the same, except for maybe the few moments that transform it from just any city into a place you can no longer live without; such as a special restaurant where you may have first met eyes with your one and only, or an open door that kept the cold off your shoulders one evening, or a salon where finally you found a stylist that showed you that we're all a part of something bigger than ourselves. "Well is she tall?", absolutely not. "She looks a little young!" Isn't that what we all want? The operative question here is " How?". I've only trusted these locks to only one person for the past 10 years, and if you could see them you'd understand why, and yet, well, here I am.
It's been one year to the day since my last haircut, and I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep. Because I wear my hair longer, and I want to keep it longer, I tend to cut it no more than once a year, and once a year happens to be today, and golly I'm going to get my haircut if it's the last decision I have a say in! I'm in San Francisco and my mind is made. I ask a very nice lady, "Miss, you sure have a nice hairdo, if you you'd be so kind as to tell me whom could have given you such a fresh style I sure would appreciate it ".
"Fresh!?!, well if you ain't so sweet you make sugar taste just like salt," she said. "This cut and color's pushin' 7 weeks honey bunny. It's my stylist who's to thank for this never ending magic, but thank you just the same!".
"Impossible!", I thought. A circle begins forming around the kaleidoscope of mind. I close my eyes and ask myself if when i open them will the world as i know it still be there?
Every hair of this women's do tells me whoever gave her this gift is confident, bold, intelligent, and knows exactly where the balance between what you want from your hair and what will work best for you is.
I try to form my thoughts into a coherent sentence, but at this point I'm finding it difficult enough to remember to breath. My lips fight to mold a question but only manage to squeeze out the word "where?".
"Ohh you poor thing, you look as if you're about ready to pass out," she says.
"Where," I manage to mutter again.
"Tiburon, Christopher Salon," she replies.
I haven't the strength to thank her. I turn and begin to walk away and she says, "you'll recognize her immediately, she's as cute as a fox in sox!"
This salon, like the wonderful people working there is charming, warm, professional, and good looking. The stylist listened to my wants and concerns, and assured me there would be no unexpected surprises or "executive decisions" is how it's been put to me in the past. She gave me exactly what I wanted and laid to rest any anxiety I had about coming to a new stylist. Lindsay LaBonte' is her name, super sexy hairdo's is her game. read more