I made it home in time to make coffee and let my first client into my home. I settle into the day and surrender to the chaos of back to back clients looking to me for advice and beautiful hair styles. After the morning rush, I get into my email, voicemail and eventually nuzzle into a pile of dirty laundry, wedding photos and event invitations on Facebook. I glide through branches of information and visuals that are none of my business and set my gaze on photos of my ex-husbands really cool, really amazing salon. I try to pick apart the fixtures and critique the décor, but I have nothing- it looks great. Everyone looks great. So trendy and young.
I noticed my assistant whom I’d referred to my ex had made a big gutsy change to her hair. If she was still with me, I wouldn’t have encouraged a look like that. Way too bold for my liking. She looks fantastic. I felt a small fury roll around in my belly and start to pick up tid bits of envy and finally turn itself into a bowl of black hair color sitting in my gloved hands.
Without thinking, I ravaged through the top of my perfect bleach blond hair. Grabbing pieces here and there brushing the tar into my ashen locks.
“What I need is an accent color!” I told myself louder than I care to admit.
You would almost expect the lights to start flickering, thunder clapping as my hysterical laugh travels up the stairs from the basement whilst I give life to my fashion phenomena! The dog put her paws over her face and quivered.
I rinse and blow dry. I convince myself it doesn’t look like a huge navy blue Spice Girl chunk on the top of my head.
“It looks RAD. I look trendy and young.” I say with a smaller voice. I look at the clock, I realize I have to fly out the door to pick up my son from school. I consider a hat.
So- here I am in the school parking lot in the security on my little car. My heart rate has now slowed and out of nowhere a wave of shame barrels into me. I pull the visor down and look in the mirror at my blue and black hair. Surrounded in expensive SUVs and tight bodied soccer moms I am face to face with my jealousy. Then it breaks. The feeling of envy snaps. I burst out laughing and feel like kicking myself in the ass for my moment of weakness. What the hell was I thinking?! Did 10 yrs of color theory just go down the drain along with the blue-black hair color I applied to my hair?!
“Relax, it’s not that permanent.” I tell myself. Breathe in, breathe out. Let it go and suck it up. I get out of the car and straighten up. Hold my navy blue head high and own my self realized jealousy. I retrieve my kid from the yard. He doesn’t even notice I look like a blue haired senior citizen. Actually, it seems no one notices. I take in a shaky gasp and head home. Time to make snacks, poop the dog and figure out what the hell I am going to do with this fashion phenomena.