Why You Should NEVER Scrimp on Salon Services

autumn-leavesToday is guest blogger number two in my week-long parade of awesomeness.  Dani from Cloudy, With A Chance of Wine is another one of my favorite ladies!  She was another blogger that I have followed for almost as long as I have been blogging.  What do I love about her?  She has such a fabulous sense of humor about herself, and can turn anything into a great story!  And I like a good glass of wine too!

Why you should never scrimp on salon servicesAs the 3 of us were wandering around our neighborhood a couple of weeks ago, I noticed a new salon had opened up nearby, and I almost died when I saw a sign in their window that said: OPEN UNTIL MIDNIGHT!

Intrigued, I ran ahead to find out what it was all about, and 5 minutes later I walked out with an appointment to get my eyebrows threaded at 9:00 pm that night at half the price I usually pay.

I felt like I’d won the lottery.

At 8:50 pm, after my daughter was tucked in and my husband was zoned out in front of the TV, I put on my best pair of jeans and headed to the salon with the biggest smile on my face.

When I arrived, I was immediately ushered into a back room, where I was asked to lie on a bed that had a plastic sheet over it and a (very) used tea towel on the end where my head was supposed to be. Thoughts of lice and Brazilian waxes ran through my mind, but since I’m a people-pleaser, I was physically unable to ask the sweet lady that was going to thread my eyebrows me to change the plastic sheet or the towel.

To try and distract myself, I brought up the idea of eyebrow tinting. I had this done YEARS ago, and since I only get my eyebrows professionally shaped once a year these days, I felt like treating myself.

Within seconds of suggesting this, I was lying on the skanky bed with another (very) used towel over my face and eyebrow dye slathered all over my forehead. Admittedly, I was feeling a little nervous, but the sweet lady told me I had nothing to be scared about because she was “going to make me look beautiful.” So I kept my mouth shut and continued lying there as she removed the dye from my eyebrows, and I didn’t even flinch when a little dye-infused water dripped into my eye and another (very) used towel was pressed into my eye to ensure I didn’t go blind.

But once the dye had been removed and my eyebrows were ready to be threaded, I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to see what they looked like. So I got off the bed and walked over to the closest mirror to take a look.

And I almost screamed.

My eyebrows, and all of the skin beneath them, were ALMOST BLACK.


But the sweet lady assured me that once she’d removed the excess dye from my skin and shaped my eyebrows, I would be thrilled with the results.

And beautiful.

So I got back on the skanky bed and started to recite Sandra Boynton’s Barnyard Dance over and over in my head while she SCRUBBED my eyebrows with rubbing alcohol.

Once she was satisfied my eyes were burning badly enough from the fumes, she started threading.

And then she continued threading.

And then she threaded some more after that.

And just as I was about to ask if I had any eyebrows left, she started tweezing those “hard to get hairs.”

When she was finally done, I shakily got off the bed and walked over to the mirror, and when I saw my reflection, it took every ounce of my willpower not to cry. My eyebrows were still virtually black, all of the surrounding skin was red and raw from all of the scrubbing and threading, and I noticed a bit of blood below my left eyebrow from those damn tweezers.

And this, my friends, is why you should never scrimp on salon services.

Then again, I overpaid for my first (and only) Brazilian wax, and that didn’t get me very far either.

Have you ever had a nightmare experience at the salon?

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Dani Ryan is a SAHM who likes to make people laugh by sharing funny stories about her functionally dysfunctional life, both before and after she became a parent. It keeps her from opening the wine at 9 am. Sometimes. You can find her on Facebook, Twitter, and Pinterest.