I Swear it Looked Good When I Was There

Okay, back to the hair crisis . . .

Back in 1986, I willingly submitted to a haircut that would be later be described by my boyfriend at the time as "You look like a little skater boy." I will scan in the yearbook picture as soon as I get home, but I did look like a skater boy.

Yesterday, Jennifer (my "hair care professional") was stacking clients, so I waited a little longer than usual. Therefore, I had more time to look at the hair magazines . . . always a dangerous activity. I'm a firm believer that my hair stylist does not tell me how to teach art . . . so I should not tell her how to cut my hair. She is a professional and knows much more about cutting hair than I do. So maybe it was the fumes . . . or the goo on my head burning into my brain, when I marked two pictures and said, "Hey Jen, look at these!"

"Oh, fun!" was the reply.

It looked great in the salon. The color looked right this time, which is always a challenge. My hair looked good. All was right with the world. I swear they pipe nitrous oxide into that place.

Later, as I was talking to my brother in Miami on the phone about the motorcycle debacle . . . "Damn it! My hair is orange." My brother, who used to dye his hair bright orange ON PURPOSE, was less than sympathetic. "I don't know why you go get it done in the first place. You could just do it yourself." As he was talking, I'm noticing that some of the hair is bright yellow . . . Big Bird yellow and I sigh, knowing that I will now have to go dye my hair immediately. So he is probably right. And then I catch my head again out of the corner of my eye. "S&*%! and this haircut looks dykey . . ." My brother laughs.

So my hair looks very much like it looked in 1986 and in 1992 . . . as pictures will show. Have to remember to stay away from the hair magazines. Luckily, it grows out . . . but right now it's way too short.