The fat midget

I have a hairdresser friend here in the city. She told me to grow my hair for a month to be in this ultra swank hair show taking place in early November. Me, thinking this seems like a cool thing to take part in, and a possible chance to network because I have four friends. Plus, I get a free $100 cut (which really seems like a rip, how the f*ck can cutting my five inch hair cost that much).
So earlier this week I went to the salon with terrible hat head and a minor head cold. It's pissing rain and there's one to nine other things I'd rather be doing. I'm to meet the organizer and head stylist for a consultation. I show up at the scheduled time and am told to have a seat. 20 minutes later I've read the shitty hair mags, made fun of the token savage gay male stylist, and re plugged my meter. Finally, the lady (I think it was Rachel, or maybe Rhonda...whatever) comes out of the back for our ever so exciting meeting. Let me tell you, eyes don't lie! At first seeing me her smile softened and she tried very hard to not show the utter disgust in what I thought must be my appearance. The self esteem wavers.
We exchange fake pleasantries and she asks how I know my hairdresser friend blah blah quit beating around the bush. At some point I snap and say 'is there something wrong here?' Relief floods her middle aged trying to look way younger face, and she replies 'well, I was hoping for someone taller and less chubby'. Me, wow, feeling sweet now. Auto defense of 'well, I am 5 10' and only 179lbs' (which is totally average, but by dropping the poundage from 180 to 179 I felt way cooler). Her, 'yeah...no'.
My life as a career hair model is finished.