I have just completed a Hair-a-thon. I am not exaggerating. Here is a mile-by-mile (or is it a blow-out by blow-out??) account:
- In less than one week’s time, I have gone from one end of the color spectrum to the other
- I said blonde, Hairdresser #1 heard platinum. He thought his work resembled a modern-day 70s glam girl Blondie. Reality looked like a pissed-off 80s bad boy Billy Idol
- I said please warm it up, Hairdresser #2 thought a lovely shade of eggplant oughta do it. His idea of a warm/golden tone ended up looking like Michael Douglas’ recent portrayal of Liberace
- In between racing to the next water (or in this case, hairdresser’s) station, I tore apart my closet in earnest trying to find my most Gangsta-esque hoodie to hide under
- Hairdresser #3, aka my Savior, kept me from visiting the nearest gun registry
The timing of all this is so interesting. The day my Hair-a-thon began, my awesome yogi pal/fellow teacher posted on FB a simple quote: “It’s just a bad day. Not a bad life.” I needed to hear this. Especially as well-meaning passersby grabbed their sunglasses to diffuse the glare off my shock of electric white hair.
During my Hair-a-thon, this quote served as my water bottle, motion-control running shoes, and “yer almost there!!!’ cheerleading fans as I trounced along toward the finish line.
Now happily golden, warm-toned blonde, I can look back on my multiple scalp scrubs and endless ass time in the chair and reflect. Reflect on just how traumatic a bad hair day is. Even if it is just a bad day.
Namaste yogis and hair warriors!