for some reason, I have this compelling urge to blog on leap day. so, I guess I better take advantage of it, otherwise I'll have to wait another four years, in which case I might be going on kid number 15 and therefore too busy for this blogging thing, you never know.
about this time last week, Tuesday to be exact, I had this sudden itch to get my hair cut. like, I wanted it cut RIGHT NOW. so, I dialed up the gal I usually see, crossing my fingers that I'd be able to get in. since it was already going on noon, she was, unfortunately, booked solid. not only that, but she had no openings until Friday. um, excuse me, FRIDAY?! that's like three days away! I told her I couldn't wait that long and hung up on her (just kidding). besides, we were heading down to Phoenix on Friday anyway, so yeah, slight conflict there.
feeling a bit discouraged, I thought, hmmm, now what?
as I contemplated what to do (do I try some place else? or should I wait until next week?), I caught a glimpse of my overgrown rat's nest in the entry way mirror and nearly gagged. ACK! is that really me? shuddering, I quickly determined that this mop o' mine needed some immediate attention. really, I didn't want the out-of-town guests at Winter Services to point me out and ask, "by the way, who's that lady over there with the poofy hair?" is what it boiled down to. and so, moments later I'm punching in the number for Aveda, hoping they can squeeze me in. as luck would have it, they happened to have an opening at 5 that evening with a gal named Aubry. phew, because next on the list was Great Clips. and as desperate as I was, I couldn't quite stomach going that route. ugh.
I arrive at Aveda a little before 5. the polished receptionist informs me that it will be a few moments as Aubry is just finishing up with a client, but "would you like a glass of water infused with cucumber slices and lemon zest while you wait?" he politely asks, showing off is gleaming white teeth. "um yeah, I suppose, I mean sure, thanks!" I reply, trying not to sound too uncouth, but failing hopelessly, the words "stay-at-home-mom" written all over my face in permanent marker I'm sure. glancing down, I noticed I still had my black workout pants on and I could see where Scarlett had attacked me, as evidenced by the snot marks randomly dotting the pant legs. talk about classy.
within a few minutes, I'm greeted by Aubry. she appears to be quite young, but pleasant enough. she asks me what I want done with my hair. I tell her I don't want anything too drastically different, just a trim and maybe a little texturizing, something to wrestle this mane back into shape. "that sounds easy enough," she says. and so, roughly a hundred snips of the shears later she's asking me how it looks, and I'm studying myself in the mirror going, "yeah, it looks great! cool, thanks!" and off I run.
it wasn't until later that evening, when one of my kids mentioned something about my hair looking funny in the back that I suddenly realized that Aubry had never showed me the back of my head, like hairstylists typically do when they're done styling your hair.
*insert a collective gasp from the audience*
because this story is getting to be ridiculously long, I'm stopping here folks. tune in tomorrow (or whenever I get around to it) for the continuation of "there's nothing worse than a bad haircut."
PS. I don't even have a picture to share. what's wrong with me?