Hair Day

I'm not really fond of my hair. It's ultra fine, very thin and does not know what to do with itself. It's the kind of hair that attracts oil each night, meaning I wake up each morning feeling a little like Medusa without the snakes.

My hair feels best after a trip to see my hair stylist. I sat leafing through a variety of magazines this afternoon as my stylist did some big work on my hair. First came the foils for a few highlights. Twenty minutes later came the color to wash away those ever increasing grays. Then came the wash, my favorite part. I can't say that it's all that comfortable hanging my head back in the washbowl, but it's worth the inconvenience to have someone else lather up my head and massage my scalp.

I watch Ray, my stylist, snip away at my hair. With a comb in his right hand he pulls the hair above my scalp. The scissors snip away in no apparent order. His comb and scissors move as he talks with me about his plans for St. Patrick's Day, which will be alcohol free this year since he recently decided to make some changes in lifestyle.

With the cutting done he starts with the blow dryer. It is this part I watch most intently, because try as I might I can never get my hair to look the way it does when I leave the salon. Today, I'm okay with that since I don't really like the way it was dried and styled. As I climb in the car I take a look in the mirror and wonder if it's a little too light this time. I push the hair behind my ears and fluff the top with my fingers. Not too bad, I think. I just need to remember to blow dry the back first tomorrow morning.