Tuesday, August 9, 2011
The New Old Me
Well, I went to Monticello and got my hairs done. All of them. Almost.
I swear. I cannot go to a regular place where no one knows you and there are assistants and someone answering the phone. No. I have to go to a place in a woman's house where her six-year old son washed bottles with his feet in the sink while his mama was foiling my hair and where the phone rang constantly and I heard about a woman whose husband had died, and the woman who did my hair and I traded heart-ache stories and her son surprised me by putting a small black and white rabbit on my chest while I was getting my hair washed.
And of course I wouldn't have it any other way.
I think she did a great job, trying to get rid of the red and blend in the gray which I want to let grow in and also, trying to lighten it up some because, as she said, I need that. I need to not be depressed with dark hair.
And I like it. It's not real dramatic but let's face it- I create my own drama. My hair doesn't need to do that for me.
And I should have tipped her more. Dammit.
So odd to be a fifty-seven year old woman who really does still want to be a girl sometimes, even if she doesn't wear girlie clothes very often, even if she is a grandma, even if she deals with poop a lot of the time, even if her mascara languishes in the bathroom, waiting patiently to be used again.
Maybe especially if.
I really like the woman who does my hair. And her son, too. And that bunny was so very soft.
Well, I better put my overalls back on and get to work. In my girlie hair. My graying, girlie hair.