Thursday, December 4, 2008
I owe Yumi a big, fat apology.
My latest “what did I get myself into” moment started in the shower in Las Vegas when I discovered three of the links on a strand of my hair extensions had detached. It doesn’t sound serious, but believe me, the result is a hank of hair hanging lopsided down your back, with this big tab sticking out the back of your head. Fake hair is hard enough to make look good without that little complication.
So it’s a panic moment when you are on the other side of the country from your stylist .
Then reality struck: I was at the Mandalay Bay, in the heart of the entertainment strip. If you can’t get help with hair extensions in a five-star hotel, where can you? I called the Robert Cromeans salon from that formerly useless phone on the bathroom wall – yes, they could take me right away and make everything good as new.
The last time I heard that, I dropped by a salon in Santa Monica to correct a hair cut mistake I’d not noticed before heading out on vacation. That gal whacked up my do so badly, it took my hair two years to grow out of it. So you understand when I said I piddled around pushing the down elevator button to carry out this idea, even though I was standing there with my hair still dripping wet on the carpet.
Yumi was just as cheerful and sweet as that SM stylist, which really put me on my guard. But she competently reattached half my head back there, explaining why it had all gone wrong, and then brought up a good point: We should check to make sure the other links weren’t weak, since it would be more expensive to make a new appointment if they broke, too. She would just blow dry/round brush my hair and kill two birds with one stone.
So I sat there with my eyes closed, torn between saving money and the realization that she was straightening my beautiful French curls into exactly what I didn’t want: long, thin, straggly, ugly hair. I knew this was going to go all wrong, again. It was disaster tugging at my scalp.
But I’m here to tell you that Yumi made magic with all this hair, to the point I nearly cried when I had to wash it out 48 hours later. Not to mention had I left it curly, I would have looked like some kind of Marie Osmond groupie sitting in the front row of her concert that night, as she has the same length, style — and probably extension brand.
So, should I fly to Vegas a couple times a week to have Yumi fix my hair or find her a job in Indianapolis?