Earlier this week I went to get my hair colored. I used to do it myself, but last fall I botched it and thought to myself, you know, you've reached a point in life when you can afford to treat yourself to SOMETHING now and then. My pals Patrica Ryan and Leann Sweeney had encouraged me to get highlights, and so I tried that, too. Hey, Mikey! I like it! A LOT. Of course I don't get highlights every month, but if there's a conference on the horizon, or I have to be somewhere and look presentable (that is, not in jeans and a T), I spring for highlights.
On Monday I arrived bright and early at the salon and to my dismay, my regular stylist had changed her hours. Yikes! I was in a hurry, so I settled on someone else doing my hair. Big mistake. I wasn't happy with what she had done the last time my regular stylist wasn't available. The instructions for my color were on my customer card, so how bad could she mess things up?
BIG TIME -- that's how. I came out looking like I'd stuck my head in a pot of very, very, very dark brown paint.
I had to go out of town and came back yesterday with a plan to hit the salon again this morning. Sure enough, my stylist was there to make things right. Super highlights! And she did it for free. Weeeee! I look like (the new) me again! I gave her a big fat tip, and offered her a part in my current book. (As it happens, I'm writing a hairdresser.) She was thrilled.