Apart from hair dressers, cross dressers and who knows what other kind of dressers I, like most men, know next to nothing about woman’s hair.
Let me say upfront that what you’re about to read contains a lot of generalizations and I know that I’m painting the fairer sex with a broad brush, or comb, or curling iron, or … well it’s a lot of generalizations.
When it comes to a woman’s hair, sure, I know the basics. I know that for every second a man takes getting his hair, I hesitate to say this but, ready a woman takes up to a minute. If a man takes 30 seconds fixing his hair after a shower it takes a woman 30 minutes.
And that’s just for like if the woman is planning a trip to the mailbox or something.
This ratio scales up badly if the woman is fixing her hair for something more serious like work, a party, a holiday office event or a dip in the pool. In such cases the ratio explodes. The man might still take only thirty seconds to manage their hair but the woman can take, in extreme cases such as a wedding, a lifetime.
Maybe not a literal lifetime, unless you’re the poor husband/boyfriend/guy she picked up last night waiting on her. In such cases it can indeed feel like a life time. That isn’t much of an exaggeration actually. There are creatures on this earth that born and dead in the span of time a woman might spend in a beauty salon, the humble mayfly among them.
This, well noble isn’t quite right, fly has a lifespan of 1 to 4 hours. Next time you await your lady friend to return from the beauty salon think not of how long it’s taking not in hours but in potential mayfly generations. I like to contemplate the humble fly while drinking a beer at a nearby because I think the mayfly would want it that way.
This abnormal ratio spans across all things related to women and hair. Take hair care products. If you’re a man and you’re living with a woman you already know this. Take a look at the collection of hair care products she buys for her hair and look at the matted ball of scraped up soap scum you’ve collected for your own hair. Most men I assume are like me and leave the choice of their own hair care products to the woman in their life. On the rare occasions I purchase my own I tend to pick the brand closest to the checkout counter so I can minimize my time in the store. This decision is only mitigated by what’s actually cheapest. If it cost more than a song on iTunes I cringe.
I, and a lot of men I know, am literally willing to lather up the mops on our head’s with a bar of soap.
I conducted an informal survey of female Had a Few Beers readers about how many hair care products were in their bathroom or shower. Besides the typical “are you drunk” responses I was also able to unscientifically confirmed nothing. I did however get bitched at by a lot of chicks, all of them totally hot, cool and I hope naked, that confirmed yes my wife isn’t unique and that our shower is littered with hair care products marketed to their gender.
The answers spanned from the sensible, “only shampoo and conditioner” from some who replied too “I don’t know how many are in there anymore, I’ve lost count,” among others.
Volumizer , root detangler and other words that don’t actually seem to be words were used by those that chose to respond. Deep conditioner, as if the other conditioners only do 3/4th of the job, were terms tossed about as if that’s normal shit.
I also thought mousse was dead in the mid-1990 but I was wrong, not for the first time. It seems some of you ladies are applying that shit in the shower. I’m sure there is a perfectly logically reason.
Turns out that if you ask the always reliable Yahoo answers how much the average male haircut costs you read a lot of racial slurs and learn that it costs about $15 on average. When you ask the same question but about the cost of a woman’s trip to the salon your computer goes into blue screen of death mode the way old calculators did when you tried to multiply huge numbers in grade school.
As you all know my wife can’t drive right now so I’m her chauffeur. She nixed the idea of my being her ‘naked chauffeur’ early on so I’m stuck with a less glamorous title. Apparently her hair care needs are no less stringent now that she cannot drive and the time and money she spends in the salon remain unchanged. Well unchanged except for the very bored husband in the bar next door wondering how long he can realistically nurse one beer (answer a long damn time). It’s one of those things; I sighed and accepted my lot in life. Her hair, like most of you ladies out there, is important. I just agreed inside that I’d have to endure this and remember next time to bring a phone charge.
Eight seven mayfly generations later she emerged. She was happy, my wallet cried and my phone was dead. Praise about the hair was dutifully given by me to my wife (although it looked suspiciously like it did when she went inside – mental note, start asking for receipts) and we drove home.
The next day, about an hour before leaving work she called me inquiring if I would mind a quick, really just 15 minutes or so, detour on the drive home. Sure “honey bunny” I replied, “where to?”
The salon she said. I want to get my hair straightened some more.