Hair Again

My second visit to the swanky east side salon with my sister. This time, the perfecting of the style so that I will look my best for the wedding (can you believe it is only one week away?). I am less intimidated walking through the doors. The receptionist is still none too welcoming, but I have a deeper motivation to make this work. I want to look good for Kiel.

Once again, the haircutter clucks over my sorry cut (even though she was the last one to cut my mop). My hair grows like my Father's hair. Not much on top, but the fringe around the back is long and thick. Sigh. I would have rather inherited my Mother's beautiful white hair. Ah, well.

She snips and scissors and razors until everything is in the right proportion and lays nicely with the contours of my face, just as it should be. I make bold to talk to the color artist to tell her that it was too dark for my taste, and that I would like some highlights please. "Of course," she purrs. "Last time we just wanted to get the base color right. I will go only a half shade lighter. You need the darkness to bring out the youthfulness of your skin. Your face is so young looking, so smooth and even."

I look in the mirror, but I don't see what she sees. True, I don't have a lot of wrinkles or crows feet, but my skin is blotchy and sports age spots here and there. Well, I can't change that. She goes to work mixing and daubing and then paints highlights overtop of the darker color. I sit and percolate while my sister goes to get her cut. I think she looks young. And she is only 2 years younger than I am. I feel ancient.

Though I am not yet 60, my body has been through so much I move like I am 90. But I am determined that for the wedding I will be young again, filled with joy and youth and love. This will be such a great day. Who could resist such happiness?

The timer rings and I am cooked. With a luxurious scalp massage and rinse treatment, I am on my way to looking like a mother of the groom ought to look. I glance around. There have been 2 bridal parties in the salon today. Apparently September is the new June when it comes to weddings. There is excitement and raw angst in both parties. Girls wanting to be perfect for their special day. They drink champagne while they are coiffed, their abundant hair piled in swirls and buns and chignons, their fingernails buffed and polished, their faces scrubbed and smoothed and exfoliated until they glow.

It affects everyone in the salon. What a pleasure to celebrate these joyous occasions. There are too few times of specialty and joy these days. I am glad people really get into it. I remember when my own hair was long and could be put up. I want to tell them to enjoy it while they can, but of course, they may not end up with my balding thinning mess.

"So what are you ladies going to do today with your fabulous hairdos?" our hostess asks us. My sister and I look at each other, dumbfounded. I am going home and clean the bathroom. She needs to shop, then mow the lawn. But the mundane does not take the zip out of our happiness. Our day is coming, and we will be ready. Thank the Lord.