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I’ll never forget the day. My mother and I had gone into Atlanta for a day with the hair stylist and shopping. Little Buddy was about two and was spending the day with my husband. I guess they were doing two year old boy and Daddy things while I was doing 30 {ahem..} year old daughter and Mother things.
Now, I have to tell you. I had seen this one hairdresser/ stylist/ whatever proper title you use nowadays for about 10 years. She was known in these parts as “the best.” She was the type that you went to see and she told you exactly how awful you looked and what she was going to do to fix ya.
Ever been to one of those? They aren’t the best for your self-esteem. But I think you pay them for their ability, not personality. At the time, I was one of the women who thought if they told you how badly you needed them that must mean you did.
Another hint that a lot of other women must have been following along with my same line of thought? You had to book your appointments with her at least four months in advance. Don’t think you could get a work in appointment either. It just didn’t matter that you had been spending gobs and gobs of money with her for 10 years. You better have an appointment dad gum it.
Anyway, back to the day.
We loved our special days and had not had one since Little Buddy had been born. Just a day with the two of us getting pampered and spending too much money. Sounded fun then.
We arrived at the salon and were greeted with mimosas, fruit and crackers. Since your appointment takes literally all day, you can easily have a few mimosas and they will have long left your system before time to drive home again. So, we each took one.
And then, we waited. This was part of the routine. Hurry up and wait.
When it was my turn for beautification, my stylist had a line of assistants ready to… well… assist. Two worked on my foils to get the “halo highlights” just the perfect ash blonde. As the foils were finished, it was time for manicure, pedicure, and brow wax.
Six hours and too much money later, I left. Not one bit excited about how my hair looked. Not only was my halo less than perfectly ash blonde, I now had four colors dancing around on my head in true calico cat fashion. Brown, blonde, red, and orange. It wasn’t pretty, but I would have to come back another day to have it fixed.
Of course it would be fixed for free, it was just my hair needed to “rest between treatments to reduce the damage,”she said.
Off we went to have lunch and regales of shopping. Spinach artichoke dip, Grilled Chicken Ceaser Salads, and of course iced tea.
Not one to whine and cry for long, we laughed and said at least my was “unique.” Shopping would indeed make it all better. We tried on shoes and drooled over the latest handbags. And then off to the Burberry store to search for an anniversary present for my husband.
I found the most adorable jacket for myself, on sale no less, and was in the middle of the obligatory “twirl” when I smiled at my Mother in the mirror. And that is when I saw it.
A clump of spinach the size of Georgia stuck right there in between my front two teeth.
And the calico cat, spinach-eating woman quietly crawled under a rock to die of shame.
The End.
