Last night I got the reminder call that I had a hair appointment today. I always ALWAYS forget my hair appointments, I never remember my reminder cards, and I don’t write them down in my calendar. Maybe I like to be surprised. Maybe I like the unpredictability of it. Maybe I’m just really disorganized and have no attention to detail (I THINK WE HAVE A BINGO!) Today was haircut day. But I made the appointment back when I got off work at noon, and now my hours have increased and I work until 2 p.m. The Mystery Appointment was at 1 p.m. I called the salon and asked how late I could get in, and they kindly allowed me to come in at 1:45. This will mean something later.
What is it about new haircut day in my 40′s that brings the same kind of hope and wonder as stockings on Christmas morning?
“This time it’s going to be (use your Oprah voice) GOR-jussssss!!!!”
I decided to cut about four inches off and go with my “normal” color. My stylist knows that I always regret doing anything different with my hair, so she sort of ignores my drama, but she has no IDEA how I waz out about it at home. Because SURPRISE! You’re still 44. With shorter hair.
It is also fortunate that they place a glass of pinot grigio in my hand the moment I walk into the place, because if I’m going to be forced to look at myself in the mirror for two hours, I’m going to need a drink. The entire time, I’m chatting with Jaimie, thinking, “Sweet Baby Jesus, I really need to get a quote on getting that chin/neck situation fixed.” I never thought I’d consider plastic surgery, but that’s a fun thing to say when you’re 25 or 30. When you’re teetering on the bring of 45, you start going “What is my window of opportunity on this?” I also said I’d never give my children Doritos, but that was before I had kids, and now it’s “Cool Ranch or Nacho Cheese?”
To compound the matter, since I got there late, and I PROMISED to pick up Youngest Daughter at the elementary school no later than 3:30, I had to run out of the place at 3:15 without letting my stylist style me. I looked in the mirror in the van and thought, ”Well shit, now I look older than ever with this MomBob. And I need chin work. And my hair is wet. And it’s still -10 outside. And I have to go to the grocery store.” I pulled away from the curb in resignation.
When I got to the school, it turns out YD had patrol duty and we didn’t know it, so I had to wait 15 minutes (after I settled down from my panic of thinking she’d been abducted.) This is time, of course, that I could have had my hair styled. And I ran into three people I know in the grocery store with my wet hair. Because THAT is what happens. At 25 it’s adorable, at 45 people think you need an intervention.
Since I’m obviously not posting a picture of the MomBob until I’ve broken it in, I’ll instead leave you with a picture of what happens when kids get bored over holiday break:
The pets suffer.
I came home from work yesterday to this. Do you see how his tail is blurry because he’s wagging. Oh, how I love this dog.
It is noteworthy that there are two evil teens and one evil, yet adorable, pre-teen hiding around the corner giggling. Poor George the Superpet.