Words: Something-that-describes-when-the-rain-stops-and-the-sun-comes-out, rock star, breathing.
Eff it. The appointment for the hair doing is in a few hours. I stop a small gaggle of students. “I’ve got an appointment,” I point to my head. “Do I chop it all off?”
The guys say, “Nooooo!” Guys seem to dig long hair. Angela says, “Give me a number between one and two.”
“Two.”
She looks blankly at me. I return the look. Then we start laughing because she doesn’ know what it was supposed to mean, and it doesn’t matter anyway.
Later – “Missy, I’m in a menopausal hormonal crazy. I’m ready for radical.” She talks me down. Nothing drastic. “Color?” Also, nothing too crazy because she knows I’ll regret it. (She’s awesome that way). This is what friends and good hairdressers do…they prevent you from stupidity.
See? This is me nod doing something insane, like buying a car. Or getting a buzz cut. Or becoming a platinum blonde.
Stupid hormones.