It's All About Me, Not!
Today was my day to get beautified.
And taxified. But that's not a fun story so I'm not telling that one.
My colorist, who happens to be my good friend T, works at a shop on a main road leading into town. The shop has gorgeous windows looking out to the road and while she works on my hair we look out at the weather, or traffic, or emergency vehicles and feel like Mrs. Kravitz spying on the neighbors.
T was about half way through applying my color and a big, long 18-wheeler pulled up outside the shop and stopped, completely blocking the driveway.
Two men got out and went to the front of the truck, lifted the hood, and started looking around.
Uh-oh.
They've blocked us all in. I can't be blocked in. I have to leave soon. I have an appointment with our accountant to give him our tax papers.
I fretted about it for a little bit, wondering how long they were going to be stuck there. The other women in the shop kept speculating that I might be trapped for a long while, since the hood was still up and the men were deeply embedded into the engine looking around and tapping things.
After thinking about it for a few more minutes, I jumped out of the chair and told T I was going out to find out how long they were going to be there.
She laughed as I flew out the door.
"Are you going to be here long?" I asked.
"Just a few minutes, ma'am," they said, just staring at me.
"Okay, then," I said, as I turned around and walked back toward the shop.
Oh, boy.
Color half applied means my hair was sticking up ALL OVER THE PLACE. Foamy goo applied liberally. T had just waxed my eyebrows so my forehead was red and irritated, tiny pieces of wax still stuck to my eyebrow area. And I'm wearing a vinyl black poncho.
Good golly.
No wonder the two men left so quickly.
~~~~~~~~~~
I made it to my tax appointment on time.
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