Yesterday I got a wild hair, the first one I’ve had in a long time. It happened quite unexpectedly around 6:30 in the morning when I decided do something fairly impulsive: surprise my 7-year-old granddaughter by having a few colored streaks put in my hair, just like she’s got.
The plan hinged on my hairdresser having the time to do it, of course. I’m vain enough not to let just anybody do something crazy with my hair. As luck would have it, she did, so I felt the Universe was cooperating with my resolve. Besides, I thought it would be fun.
My hairdresser, Liz, is good at what she does, and even though I sometimes think about trying out someone new just for variety, I never get around to doing anything about it. After all, there is a certain assurance and comfort in people and things that are dependable.
The whole process took longer than I thought it would (I’ve never had color put on my hair professionally), so Liz and I had time to talk about everything from baseball (her Yankees, my Cardinals) to hair extensions. (Did you know they’re sometimes GLUED on?!) Since I was there nearly three times as long as I usually am, I was privy to what gossip in a small town beauty shop is like. It was just like the beauty shop scene in “Steel Magnolias,” one of my most favorite movies, and I chuckled at the thought. I listened mostly, and did not contribute much to the conversation other than to answer questions about the brewery. But WOW, did I learn a lot that I really didn’t need to know. I felt grateful for living a fairly low-key existence.
By the time I walked out almost two hours later, I was wondering if it was all worth it, but that question was soon answered. Maeby loved it! As the day went on, the color got a lot of notice especially when I stood in the sunlight, and one of my girlfriends commented that it was UK blue (University of Kentucky), so I’m ready for March Madness! Even the 20-somethings working at the gym noticed it and said they loved it. I admit: the entire day was an ego-boost! I don’t remember ever having had that much attention, and it felt good. Unusual, but good.
I doubt that I will habitually continue to put colored streaks in my hair, though. I learned after the fact that with color comes a certain amount of upkeep, something I know wouldn’t be sustained in the long run. Liz suggested that rinsing my hair in cool-to-cold water would preserve the color for awhile. That probably won’t happen on a consistent enough basis to make any difference. Besides, I have grown to love my natural grey streaks. Still, I’m glad I threw convention out the window and went with my wild hair. The memories alone were worth every penny!
