Well, it was bound to happen - and I can pretty much guarantee this won't be the only time - a blog about my hair. Oh my goodness! How ridiculous we women can be about our hair and I can assure you that I'm chief among them. (No guts no glory - just saying)
I like having pretty hair. If you know me, you know this. I feel the same way about my clothes, more often than not. At the same time, I detest the whole hair scene. I really do and I struggle with what to do about my hair ALL the time, especially when we move to a new area. Who's going to do my hair? How much is it going to cost? Am I willing to pay it? Will they make me feel like a doofus when I'm there? Will it look like "me" when I leave (the fake blonde me, not the real me)? I keep threatening to cut off all the color and give the world my white/gray/brown mix - which is a LOT of white in the front - but still don't really have the guts to endure the transition.
Now things are a little more complicated because we're living in retirement mode. We're establishing a new routine as a couple and if you remember, we live a good distance from everything (everything except the fattening, delicious, homecooking cafe we like to frequent). In this new far from everything, retirement, couple mode we're in we decided to book appointments for our hair at the same salon. Yes, we did. My husband woke up and decided he needed a haircut and since I said something like "Me, too", he announced that he was calling to schedule an appointment for us.
Now, I know that a man can get an appointment on the same day he calls, but seriously here, I needed color for the roots and either highlights or lowlights to add dimension to my color, along with a cute cut to help me feel younger, thinner, richer (though it makes me poorer!), and more like I like to pretend I am and less like I fear I am. I informed my husband of this, leaving out all the extras (he's more of a cut to the chase kind of listener). He called and when he was finished, looked at me proudly (or was it smuggly?) and said "1:30." (He's also a cut to the chase kind of talker. I am not.)
We headed to town a bit earlier than necessary for the hair and worked in a Thai lunch, a quick trip to the grocery, a mini scene in the parking lot when he scared me trying to help me (I was the one in the wrong), and a trip to my favorite Christian bookstore where I picked up a recommended read and a stylish, trendy watch. It was a very productive trip to town already!
After the errands, we headed across the parking lot to Persnickety's. Persnickety's is just as persnickety looking as you might imagine. I loved it - so cute! Turquoise walls, zebra print chairs, stylish looking stylists - all dressed in black, lots of big mirrors, and lots of chatter. It was very cutesy, but not snobby. I don't do snobby well. I'm happy, but I can't help feeling the need to giggle. Do you know my husband. If there's anyone in the whole wide world that is not a persnickety type of guy, it's him. He doesn't wear mousse or gel or wax in his hair. He doesn't use or even need a hair dryer. He's no fuss all the way. He's a polo shirt and Levi's type of guy. Period. End of story. The end. So I'm a little tickled. To be fair, we chose this place because his brother goes there and I have to tell you that he was a great sport. He did not roll his eyes one time - or pace around - or anything. He was the perfect gentleman and I expected no less.
The salon had thoughtfully scheduled our appointments with the same lady and told my hubby that she'd cut his hair while mine processed. In we go. The stylish stylist wisely lets my hubby know that it's going to be a while and he can go do something else while she gets the color on. Whoosh. I would've felt really, really bad if he had to sit in that persnickety salon with all the ladies and occasional man all by himself during the boring foil process. To be truthful, I felt pretty bad for ME having to be there. He left. I got foiled. He returned 30 minutes later as recommended. I started processing another 15 minutes after that. He got his hair cut. I got rinsed, cut, and styled. Poor guy.
Finally, declared beautiful (and feeling much more so than when I arrived), we were ready to leave. We headed up to the desk and it was time for the bill. I might not have properly prepared my dear husband for this part - and to be honest, I didn't know what to expect. I seriously saw remorse in the eyes of the receptionist as she gave him the bill - explaining no less the breakdown. $15 for him - significantly more for the wife (she didn't say "significantly" but might as well have) and $16 for that little tiny can of hair goop. Being as pleased with the service as I was, I scheduled my next appointment. Dear husband did not. (I'm going to try and boost my Mary Kay sales in the next 5 weeks.)
He never complained. Not once. Not even a hint. Now if that's not true love, I don't know what is.