Hair Bear

There's a reason why I don't like Bridget Jones.

Because I'm too much like her ... or she's too much like me.

Take for instance, hair. We may not have the same hairstyle, but our experience with hair stylists is about the same. I placed myself in the hands of a very well-known stylist-and-colorist duo two days ago, trusting that they'd make me look great because when they did my hair three months before, the results were fabulous.

But while they were coloring and cutting my hair, a fire broke out in the area of Boracay where one of their salons was located. Of course, they couldn't fully concentrate on me after that. They were rushing in and out of the salon, calling and answering their phones, panicking. I felt it in my gut then - Oh no. What about my hair? I'm sorry about your business, but what about my hair! - I thought about leaving, then coming back another day when they were more lucid, but they'd already started on me, so I had no choice but to stay. When they lifted the black cutting coat over my head, there it was: shaggy, shapeless sheep dog hair.

And it's worse when it's not blow-dried. Yesterday at Gateway Mall, while shopping with friends, I could feel how frizzled and heavy the ends had become. I looked into a wide mirror at Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf and saw a dead animal wrapped around my scalp.

Which is why I am going to another stylist this week to have it re-shaped and re-highlighted. Hopefully this one will make me look human again.