Time to cut my hair

As you veteran moms know, one of the perks of being pregnant, other than the fabulousness of new-found cleavage (sorry, I really do think it's fabulous, and I know one other person that thinks it's pretty darn fabulous, too.) is that your hair is extra luxurious, thick, flowing and rock star. It also grows like a WEED which is why I need to get my hair cut soon, if for any reason than to just to get rid of the extra weight.

Everytime I get my hair cut here now, I think back to the very first time I got my haircut in this southern town. The salon I went to that day in May 2007 was a fancy little spot owned by a decidedly saucy fellow who catered to his share of proud, proper, southern ladies-who-lunch. My sister-in-law recommended this spot because the owner is a great stylist whom she knew well, and she promised, would not just part my hair down the middle and start chopping away. He might actually understand how to style curly hair, which actually, is tougher than it seems, aparently, from the number of bad haircuts I've had in my life.

I came in and sat in the small waiting area, facing the backs of two perfect, proud, proper, older southern ladies dressed to the nines. The owner asked me my last name, nodded and smiled in acknowledgment of the sister-in-law connection, and said he'd be with me in a few minutes. He was styling one of the ladies. I opened a magazine and read, trying to ignore the banter between the two ladies, the owner, and the other stylist. Until I heard this:

PPSL1 (Proud, proper, southern lady 1): "Northererns. Hmm. They are everywhere here, moving down here in numbers."


PPSL2 (Proud, proper, southern lady 2): "I know. I tell ya'll, they are ruinin' our culture!" (pronounced CUL-CHA)


PPSL1: "I'm sick of hearing 'where can I get a bagel? Why you ya'll eat biscuits?'"


PPSL2 "I ran into another one at the grocery store!"


Now, I could not have made this up if I tried. And actually, this was the absolute funniest thing I'd ever heard. I was totally not offended. I loved it. I'm sitting, crouched behind this magazine, grinning from ear to ear. Remember, the owner KNOWS MY HUSBAND'S FAMILY and knows we just moved here, and KNOWS I am a Yankee. And finally, he peers over the ladies' heads, and, fighting back the giggles, yells to me,

"Hey! You're a Yankee, aren't you?"

Me: "Yup."

The two PPSL were mortified, because, well, they got bagged--and getting bagged is SO not southern. Nor proper. Now, from all I have gathered so far in living here, I am going to relay one of the big differences between New Englanders and Southerners, other than the bagels v. biscuit thing, which is right on the money.

And, forgive me if I generalize, and I'm generalizing in the most comical way, so all you southerners out there reading this, who are about to be offened, just lighten up.....


Southern folks are quite hospitable and friendly to strangers and to anyone and everyone they meet. Sickeningly sweet. Helpful. Seemingly immediate friends for life. Offering strangers cold, sweet tea on a hot summer day. (Ok, I'm exaggerating here, but you get the idea.) But watch your back, ok? Because the coin has two sides.... the next day it might be "Oh, bless her heart...but she's a mess!" Or worse. And, they hate getting called on that. (I'll get back to what happened next with the ladies after the following New England generalization.)


On the other hand, New Englanders are cautious, even stoic with strangers from the start. No iced tea for you, stranger, I have no idea who the hell you are! And I don't trust you! And I'm not going to pretend I do, until I do! So go get your own damn iced tea. And if I run into you a few more times around town, and you don't piss me off, then maybe I'll smile at you, and even carry on a conversation. But just give me some time. Any whatever you do, don't start acting like we are best friends until I'm ready. It wierds me out. And I'll tell you that to your face.

Can you see why Southerners think Northerners are unfriendly, and why Northerners think Southerners are fake? Ok, back to the ladies.

So, after the owner says this to me and I respond, the two ladies, still with their backs to me, start backstepping....

PPSL1: "Oh, my, well, I mean, I know some Northen folks that I DO like!"

PPSL2: "YES, hmm, and, well, you know, we're just 'talking,' telling stories, joking." And they quickly change subjects.


I think this is a riot.

I finally get into the chair and the ladies are under the dryers, trying not to make eye contact with me. A few minutes later, the scissors are to my head, I'm in a haircut coma, day dreaming, when I look up and one of the ladies is walking right behind me, and the owner, while running his fingers through my hair, says to her:

"Isn't her hair just gorgeous?" (Yah, he totally did that on purpose. He loved seeing those ladies squirm as much as I did and could not let them just walk on by.)

PPSL1: "Oh, yes, it IS!" she says, our eyes meeting in the mirror.

And, I couldn't resist:

Me: "Not bad for a Yankee, huh?"

I'm going to hell.