The other day I went to the hair salon to get my hair cut and colored. I had made an appointment for 8:00 but had forgotten I had made it for that time and did not show up until 9:00. I think the stylist was mad – which she had reason to be. I was upset with myself – and here I’ve been taking this Prevagen (which by the way does not seem to be working; at two dollars a pill, I would think my mind would have cleared that first day).
She said she’d color my
hair and reset the appointment for my haircut.
But it was the cut I needed more than the coloring. I had purchased only
one bottle of hair coloring and was willing to try it by myself – but with less
hair. She agreed to cut me and commented
on the thickness and length of my hair.
She then read the directions of the hair dye I had purchased and proceeded
to get it ready to add to my head. I was
a bit concerned when the shaken up formula bore a strong resemblance to that of
carrot juice. I didn’t want my hair
that color.
I’m okay with my white hair – I really
am. I had it white the entire time I
subbed at the school district but after the “Stay at Home” order was
given, Richard and Jaime begged me to change the color and so I did. I often use a different shade of red
depending on what my choices are. When
living in small town America there are often limitations to one’s options of
brand or selection.
The dye did darken I’m happy to say
– but still
nowhere near the color on the box.
Instead of orange hair like Lucille Ball or Wilma Flintstone, it came
out more of an unnatural red sort of resembling the Wendy’s icon. That is what happened with my hair at the end
of March, but instead of orange-turning-red, it came out
purple-turned-maroon. I think it was supposed to be the same color in each case – though the
picture on the box was closer to purple/maroon than it was to anything that
resembled the color of flames.
Yesterday morning all three of us went
to the pool. Richard had decided that he
wanted to go to Costco right afterwards and so I packed my clothes (which I
normally don’t do – I just wait
until I return home to change) and had a problem removing my suit. As I was getting dressed, I realized I had
forgotten my pants and wrapped a towel around myself. I presented Richard with a few choices: He
could continue to Costco and I could wait in the car. He could take me home and drop me off. He could take me home and wait for me to
change. If, by chance, Vinny de Paul’s was open, he
could stop off and purchase something he thought would fit. The problem is he and Jaime never seem to put
size into consideration. She does know
me better than Richard does and so I sent the both of them in and waited in the
car.
I was near enough the window that I saw them holding up items for purchase. Apparently they both missed the expression on my face. Richard held up a pair of red sweatpants (though darker than my hair) while Jaime held up a blue paisley-printed skirt. It looked like something I would wear – but not with a printed tee that said “Barn in the USA”. When they returned to the car, I told Richard he was not allowed to move the car until I had on said item. I started with the pants which were not sweatpants but more like pajama bottoms. They were marked 2X. 2X for who? 2X should be a size indicating you may be a little paunch around the middle. Not a tall and somewhat thin person. There is no way I was getting that thing over my gut. I ended up wearing the skirt. I felt l looked ready to go to Walmart.
It didn’t look as terrible as I imagined. (I am NOT a Trump supporter - though I have seen many that do seem to have that "Walmart" mentality; I do kind of look like one of those) Not that anybody was looking. My flaming hair received more stares than anything. Richard and Jaime are the ones that have to look at it and both seem happy with it. I don’t dislike it but I haven’t learned to love it either. I am happy to have it all evenly distributed unlike I’ve been doing on my own (as I can’t see behind my head) and it does feel so much better. So that’s a plus.
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