So it’s official. I’m a professional. I passed my test on Monday and I’ve been recuperating ever since. I mean really, talk about a horrifying experience. I narrowly escaped my own death with the constant heart palpitations, nausea with explosive poo, and my lactating toe. But I made it through the day with a passing grade and a death grip on my new and beautiful cosmetology license.
You’re proud of me aren’t you? You’re beaming with delight and majesty, like a pleased mama.”But Beckey,” you wonder. “What are you going to do now?”
Well, I started hair school before I got pregnant, which was three long years ago. I had a different path in front of me. But after I got pregnant, I stopped school, and shoved my face in a hole in the ground for 9 months. Then I waited another 9 months, and I thought: I should go back to school and finish what I started. So that’s what this license is, it’s a completion; an end to something I started.
And then you stop and think, “Wait… you hair always looks so scraggly and in desperate need of a deep conditioning treatment, how on earth can you say you’re a hairstylist??”
While I can’t argue that point, I can tell you to suck it, and remind you that hairstylists are pretty cool and slightly intimidating, and you’re just jealous.