We had a lovely day yesterday. We went to the local waterpark, where Big Kid was tortured by all of the slides he couldn't go on because of his short stature. Then we went to my parents' for dinner and I snuck out to go to the hair class.
I'm not sure what I was thinking when I was envisioning the class, or if I really thought much about it at all, but it wasn't what I had pictured. I walked in and there were 20 some people standing there, notebooks in hand. I'm ushered to a chair in the middle of the room, already feeling a little self conscious of all eyes on me, and my hairdresser is doing her spiel on my baby hairs and how it happens a lot to women who have just had a baby and blahblahblah. Then she invites everyone up to come take a look.
Here's where it got surreal. I had 20 people gathered around me so tightly, I couldn't see the room anymore. Just a wall of people. I didn't know where to look or what expression should be on my face. Then they start reaching out and touching my hair, brushing the baby hairs down onto my face, picking up my curls and asking her if she permed it and searching through my full head of hair for what my original color would most likely be. It was like having a gaggle of third world children who had never seen blond hair pawing at me. It was very, very strange.
And they would mutter things like, "Beautiful", "Simply gorgeous" and once again I didn't know what to look at or if I should respond, because they were really talking about her work and not my hair. It was super weird having people scrutinize, touch me and talk about me like I wasn't there. Then she puts the stuff on and as she is washing it off, there they are, gathered around and peering down at me and reaching out to touch my hair some more. W-E-I-R-D.
However, my hair looks great and I now know what an expert my hairdresser is. She was speaking a whole nother language and clearly knew her shit. I guess I'll stop arguing with her about wanting to go blonder every time I see her and start counting my blessings that she knows what she's doing. It all worked out great and I get my next haircolor for free too, so that rocks.
Then I get back to my parents' house and tell my mom how self conscious I was and how they were all staring at me and pawing at my hair and she asks if I've seen my tan lines in the back (I was wearing a halter dress) because they remind her of an article she just read about celebs with horrible tan lines. Gee, thanks so very much for that. She then went to get me the magazine so I could see these atrocious tan lines (that looked very much like my own) for myself. So I guess I should have been more concerned about my back tan than my protruding tummy. Ugh. She then went on to "solve my storage problem" by suggesting I just get a front loader washer and dryer, build a tiled countertop over top of it and do one wall of wood cabinets in my laundry room. Which is a great idea, but about as practical of my idea of building a guest house and just as likely, because we simply can't afford it. Not so helpful.
So today we've spent the day keeping the little kid from so much as looking at the Big Kid's gifts and playing referee during their fights. LK is coming over with her crew because they are without a/c, which is simply unacceptable in this heat. I invited them to spend the night, but she declined. She must have forgotten that KICK ASS two weeks we spent holed up together with no power, a/c or water during Hurricane Wilma. And you probably think that's sarcasm, but we really did have a kick ass time. We grilled sugar cookies, had dance parties, built tent city in the house, had a Twister tournament, broke out the camcorder for some Weather Channel-like journalism of our own and showered in vacant mansions (because the mansions always get their power back first, dammit). Par-tay, par-tay. Damn, that was seriously fun.
Okay, they're here, gotta run, be back later!