Last year, I made a devil’s bargain. I cut my own bangs. I was drinking wine and listening to Amy Winehouse, and feeling like I needed a change after some personal troubles.

Reader, it looked terrible! I regretted it instantly. I was so ashamed, I called out of work for a week¹!

I had not been to a professional stylist for several months, as my previous trusted stylist died in a zip-line accident during a bachelorette party in Brazil. Other than that, the weekend was very enjoyable.

I desperately called salon after salon, searching for help. Finally—finally!—I snagged an appointment with Nancy, who was recommended to me by a friend of a friend of an ex-boyfriend.

Nancy took one look at me when I walked in the door, said “oh honey” and sat me down in her chair. Her long, skilled fingers tousled through the strands of my mangled hair. With the confidence of a five-star general, she attacked my hair with her scissors and comb. By the time she was done, my hair had been transformed from “lawn-mower victim” to “Farah Fawcett’s envy.” I was so overjoyed, I wanted to kiss her.

I go back to see Nancy every month. I am as dependent on Nancy as junkie is on heroin. If I don’t revisit her with such frequency, my bangs will grow out to an awkward, neglected Havanese look. Nancy is my savior. Without Nancy, I would be so ashamed I’d kill myself²³. Every time she waves her magic wand and saves me from my own hair, I want to plant my lips on hers with the passionate intensity of a Nicolas Sparks protagonist. Other than that, I’m a heterosexual woman.

Nancy is 53 years old and is expecting her first grandchild in January. She’s very excited. She is married and loves her husband very much, and I am a completely heterosexual woman. I’ve kissed women before, under the influence of Stevie Nicks and Chardonnay, and walked away feeling unfulfilled. It’s different with Nancy. I am so grateful for her, I would offer myself up to her in a heartbeat. I am so moved by what she does for me that words fail me. I need my body to speak my thanks for me.

A good hairdresser is worth her weight in gold. If you are lucky enough to find your own Nancy, grab her tight and don’t let go. And don’t let her go zip-lining in Brazil. RIP Dani. You would have made a good bridesmaid, but Nancy is my perfect maid of honor.

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1. Editor’s note: Steph told me she had salmonella. ↩︎
2. Editor’s note: For legal reasons, Steph is kidding. ↩︎
3. Steph’s note: Steph is not kidding. Steph owns a gun. ↩︎