Thursday, April 8, 2010

Meeting deadlines

will forever be a challenge for me.

Except when it comes to my hair. My meticulous attention to timing of color, cut, highlights and lowlights is second only to NASA's timing of space shuttle trips to the international space station.

But I don't let a little thing like a thunderstorm or, oooohhh, lightning get in my way. Sissies..

Nothing can keep my from my every  5-week-2:30 Thursday-afternoon ritual. Screaming roots trump anything Mother Nature has up her proverbial sleeve.

I left the salon this afternoon feeling slick and sassy. Tiffany blew it dry and straightened it. I went in looking like little orphan Annie and left with red-carpet-ready shiny straightened locks.

My phone rang as I was heading for Fairmont from Truman. It was Addie.

"Whatcha doing?" she asked.

"I just got my hair done and I can't quite get over how I look." I've been growing my hair out for some time now and for the first time it actually looks long

I admired myself again in the rearview mirror:
Eyebrows playfully arched: Check.
Chunky Highlights: Check Check
Seductive sliver of hair partially covering my left eye: Check Check Check.

"Sounds like somebody's ready for a date night," she suggested.

"You know, if I only look at myself from the nose up, I look amazing."

"You and Dad should do something."

"Maybe I will give him a call. He should be done with his hearing aid appointment."

As soon as I uttered those words, the whole mood changed.

"Dad's getting a hearing aid?'

"Well, no, he and Grandma went for an evaluation."

Bad to worse. He's at a hearing aid appointment. With his mother.

Sam called when I was in the grocery store, "Are you still in town?" I asked.

"Yes," he replied, "I'm heading home now."

"Do you want to go somewhere for a drink? I just got my hair done and feel like doing something."

"I don't think so. I want to get home. I've had really bad gas this afternoon."

Well, if the visual of him at the hearing aid appointment wasn't enough, this bit of information was the icing on the cake.

I came home, poured Mom and I a glass of wine and I made spaghetti carbonara.

Mom went to her room to listen to the radio and Sam and I watched Survivor together.

During a commercial he looked over at me and said, " I hardly recognized you when you came home. Your hair looks really different."

"Do you like it?"

Hey, at least he noticed.

But I am stopping short of calling this a date night. Now, Monday night's Windsor Chop Dinner at The Club in Easton for the Faribault County Township Officers Association--that was a date because Sam wore cologne.

So if I really stop and think about it, two dates in four nights would have set a dangerous precedent.




  1. Our "dating" pattern is very similar. Very different from our youth, eh?
    At this point in life, comfy has replaced glamorous.