Friday, July 30, 2010

Somebody Wake Me Up...

It was like something out of a horror movie. After a week-long study session that turned my brain into a pile of viscous goo, I loaded all of my things in the car in anticipation for a three hour exam. Included were Trio bars, a Larabar, and plenty of water. I drove down the street to begin my peregrination to the testing center, only to find myself seized with the feeling that something seemed out of sorts. 

A pause.
A listen. 
A realization.
No, this was not possible.

Somewhere behind me came the cacophony of flapping rubber. I quickly turned my vehicle around, hastily tossed my belongings in our parsimonious and desultory pickup truck. Fortunately (for once), my keys worked to open the door. Since my stick-shift skills are dilettante at best, my strategy was to arrive at my destination with the greatest celerity. I found myself on a two-laned road with no passing zones, and there, in front of me was an antediluvian driving a bucolic "boat" of a vehicle, resulting in a highly anti-mercurial journey. 

Alas, it seemed as if all forces had gathered together to occlude my hasty arrival at the testing center. To say the least, things did not go as hoped. 

I returned home, exhausted, and saddled with the task of getting my vehicle operational again. Somewhere in that mental mess, two wires crossed so that I was also under the delusion that I had a hair appointment tonight with my stylist (the owner of the salon). C came home early and gave me his car, gallantly taking responsibility for repairing the flat tire on his way to the gym.

 I was so exhausted that I felt like a grumpy two year old whose naptime had passed me by. I grumpily ate a long overdue spinach, feta and strawberry salad (after which I was a little more pleasant) and while C headed off to the gym, I collapsed on the bed for a handful of minutes before heading out for my un-hair appointment. Fortunately a cute girl named Ashlee came to the rescue and offered to care for this brittle-nerved woman who had arrived a day early for her coiffure tending session and even made sincere assurances like, "I PROMISE I care about how your hair turns out." 

Indeed she did! My multi-hued tresses were matched up flawlessly to their former color, with a little less blonde at my request. The photo doesn't do it justice because of the lighting. Just pick a blond or caramel streak and follow it all the way to the scalp. Perfection! Three hours!!! later, I strode satisfied out of the salon, only to find a message and a text from C. 

Where are you? 

I just left the salon.

You were at the salon for THREE HOURS? 


Okay, where were you really? 

I laughed and reflecting on the fact that normally I would have been furious at such an insane use of my time, however, with my Krispy-Kream brain, I just sat there and took it all in:

...The careful blonde foiling of my hair
...the French woman who described her "boyfriend," causing me to give her an unintended evil look when she later mentioned that he had the same name as her husband (but wasn't her hubby), and later griped about weighing 121-and-a-half lbs! If only
...the careful caramel foiling of my hair
...the twenty minute wait while it took
...the realization that I could actually watch a movie on my iPhone while I waited
...the warm water on my scalp while Ashlee applied toner to my hair
...the yummy smelling Pureology shampoo, followed by the soothing mint conditioner complete with neck and scalp massage
...the loverly feeling of a round brush being pulled through my hair while warm air flowed through it
...the snip of the scissors, making sure that my bangs were perfect
...the decision to make the layers more defined, and so more cutting, the careful blending of the layers
...the flat ironing
...the shiny product and the airy mist of Redken hairspray...

And after three hours I felt sane again. I returned home to find bird toys and food on the porch with no bird or boy, but there they were inside, C working hard on a paper for work, and Kawi admiring his likeness in the mirror. 

At 9:30 PM I watched the clock, hoping I would not fall asleep before my 10:00 PM phone call with one of my conference executive committee members who is on holiday with his wife and family in France. Fortunately I made it, and I felt comfortable that we just might make the call for papers deadline after all. 

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