In September and October I am speaking seventeen times. Robert Munsch, who writes children's books, considers seventeen a funny number (Moira had seventeen uncles; She jumped on the bed seventeen times; they had seventeen pizzas). It's his favourite number.
But somehow it's not so funny when you have to get up there seventeen times and your hair has to look good. Many of the talks are repeats, so I only have to prepare a few new ones. But it is still a little nerve-wracking, and I got in a very bad mood last night just thinking about it.
Things look better this morning. Except for my hair.
So I am going into the hair dressers and I am going to do something radical.
I'm sort of a "dirty blonde", as we used to say in the eighties. I'm not a brunette, but there's very little true blonde in my locks, either. So for the last several years I've been highlighting it blonde, and cutting it short.
My hairdresser, who is also a friend, is sick of it. She has a very short attention span and likes more of a challenge. So now that we've found one look that isn't bad for me, she thinks it's time to mix it up a little. And since I have no backbone, I have decided to go ahead.
She thinks I should do a dark wash, go back to a little darker than my natural colour, and then do some light highlights around the face. And leave it longer this time. I have asked other friends and my husband what they think, and they agree.
So I suppose I shall have to go through with it. I guess I can always dye it back if I hate it, but I've never really been dark before. The length thing sort of gets to me, too. When it's short it's easier to style. As soon as it gets a little long I get bangs in my eyes and I have to tuck it behind my ears, and sometimes, in the middle of talking, it wiggles out from behind said ears and can stick out. And I don't want to look like Prince Charles.
Nevertheless, I will trust her, and tonight I will have a different head of hair. I'll post pictures if I'm not afraid to take them.
I just wish I didn't have to go to the hairdresser today. I have a lot to get done, and it's a little overwhelming. And lately small things are getting missed.
For instance, I forgot Rebecca's orthodontist appointment again this week. This wouldn't be so bad except that it is the fourth orthodontist appointment we have forgotten. One I can blame on Keith, but the others are just me. We have tried different ways to remember, and it just doesn't work.
I don't forget optometrist appointments, or dentist appointments, or doctor's appointments, but I seem to have a black hole in my brain when it comes to the orthodontist. And now they're charging me for missed appointments, which really adds up.
The worst is that I remember how Keith used to feel when he had his office about people who repeatedly missed appointments. They were scatter-brained, irresponsible, horrible parents. And now that's me! But I'm not scatter-brained. I'm not irresponsible. It's just this one little part of my life. The other seventeen things I always remember, as Munsch would say.
I don't know how to convince them of that, though, so next time I go into that office I shall just have to wear a paper bag over my head. I'm seriously considering it. Especially if I end up hating my hair.
About Me: I'm a Christian author of a bunch of books, and a frequent speaker to women's groups and marriage conferences. Best of all, I love homeschooling my daughters, Rebecca and Katie. And I love to knit. Preferably simultaneously.
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