Beauty School Drop-Out

Just for the record, I did not drop out of cosmetology school.  I actually finished (much to my family's amusement as "Valedictorian"), but things became complicated after graduation.  Wait... let me go back to the beginning.  

Some of my pals from the good old days might be wondering why I decided to drop out of university and go to beauty school.  The easiest way to explain it is that a good-looking Canadian came into my life and turned my plans upside-down.  After completing my second year of school on my way to becoming a teacher, he whisked me away to Saskatchewan, where I had no visa and could not legally work or go to school (unless I payed the outrageous international student rate).  I twiddled my thumbs for a while, counting down the seconds until my beloved first-year Med. student would come home from school each day.  I really did try to keep busy, but it's amazing how bored I became.  I did some baby-sitting and worked at a daycare (under-the-table, of course), until I got the brilliant idea to go to cosmetology school.  Since it is a short program, I could legally enter it as long as my permanent residency status became effective before I graduated.  I was really excited.  I probably should have been patient and waited another month, which is when my status became permanent, and then I could have worked to bring in a little cash.  But, I had no idea when my paperwork would go through, and hind-sight is always 20/20.  

I LOVED going through the program.  It was just the right balance of work and fun, and I made some good friends.  I was actually really surprised how many things I learned.  Sure, the math was pretty easy for a former Math Education major, but I really had to tap into the creative side of my brain, not to mention memorizing anatomy, disorders of the skin and nails, and mastering cutting angles, etc.  Anyway, I'll get on with the story.  I became pregnant about halfway through the program.  Luckily the bathroom was really close to my station (I threw-up a lot with Luke), and I managed to only pass-out once.  I graduated in May, and Clay and I moved to Regina for the summer where Clay had an internship.  I worked at a salon for a few months, and then took it easy until our handsome Luke was born.  Needless to say, I wasn't racing to get back to the hair business.  I liked it all right, but I really liked being at home.  The trouble was, in Canada, you have to work full-time for two years after school to become a Journeyman, or fully-licensed, hairdresser.  I didn't make it.

This brings us to Michigan, where my student license was ready to expire, and I saw a last flicker of hope that all was not lost.  I applied for a Michigan license, but that required me to pass the state practical and written exams.  With a lot of help from friends in the know, I was able to take the tests and pass.  I will never forget driving through the biggest snowstorm I've ever... well... driven through, to make it to my practical test.  I was nervous enough as it was, and then I was sure I would either be too late, crash the car, or die.  Anyway, I made it just in time.  That practical test with the examiner breathing down my neck made me want to cozy right up to a multiple-choice test, which is just what I did a couple of months later.  I might have over-studied just a bit for the written test, but I really didn't want to have to pay to take it again.  The funniest moment of that one was when the women administering the tests informed everyone that they would need to have their pictures taken before entering the testing room.  All the cosmetologists whipped combs out of their bags and started doing each others' hair.  Classic.  Anyway, they told me after my test that I would have to wait for "further instructions" from the state.  This spelled disaster for me.  I had already paid a bunch of money, I had spent 2 hours a night studying and practicing for months, I was supposed to be holding a license in my hand, and now I had nothing.  Great.  A month later (last week) I got an inconspicuous letter in the mail that I almost tossed out as junk.  My license!  I can't believe I did it, but I did it!  Thanks to everyone who has helped me complete this seemingly small goal, but it always feels good to finish something you started.  And now, I can sing that old Grease song without any feelings of guilt.