Somehow I ended up today at a “hair party” where a stylist comes to someone’s house and does everyone’s hair. This is awesome because it costs much less than having it done at a salon, but this is ridiculous because a process that normally takes about two hours ends up taking seven. Because she’s working on four people at once.
And also possibly because my first round of highlights were blonde and I threatened to cry. LOUDLY.
[“Wow, you’re BLONDE!” said the hostess, as my foils were being taken out.
“Shut UP,” I replied, certain she was messing with me.
“No, um, that’s pretty blonde,” said another.
“The toner will fix that,” said the stylist, but then after I looked in the mirror and panicked and asked if her toner WAS BROWN I guess she realized that no, I was not interested in having blonde streaks, and yes, I was about to burst into tears.]
It all worked out, of course.
We occupied ourselves during down time by eating copious amount of health food like french toast and ice cream, and also by playing Rock Band—wherein I discovered I’m the world’s worst drummer, but my guitar is improving and I can be relied upon to sing a decent facsimile of Aerosmith. My grays were eventually beaten into submission by a color brown that is suspiciously close to black, and the “fixed” highlights are a gorgeous but slightly alien shade of auburn.
As an added bonus, after my haircut there was enough hair on the floor to assemble a medium-sized poodle.
If my new glasses ever get here I shall have to post some pictures of the new look. You won’t recognize me! I’m not even sure I recognize me.