Heaven on Earth…

OH. EM. GEE.

Yesterday I went to get my hair done, and by “done,” I mean, I went to have my roots covered so as to appear youthful and not scary. I hate having to do this every 5 weeks. It’s SUCH a hassle. But what are my options, really? I seriously would have white hair if not for the monthly practice of this deception. I could probably rock that beautiful white silver color that you sometimes see on older models or on Helen Mirren but, unfortunately, I think what I have is that ugly granny gray. I fear I’d end up looking like Captain Kangaroo if I let it go.

I’m not even going near the mustache… I am hormonal, after all.

The best part of getting your hair “done” is the shampoo and head massage that follows. I seriously have considered asking the shampooer for a full hour. You know I’d make it worth his wild while, monetarily speaking, of course. I don’t know what word to use other than the “O” word but I can’t use that lest my daughter, Lily, read this and “blow chunks.” I think you all know what I’m talking about. I almost feel like I’m levitating it’s so delicious. When he finishes I’m so disoriented that it occurs to me someone could have made off with all of my belongings. And then I get cranky. I need more. My head is apparently seriously touch deprived. Who knew my scalp would be so responsive?

I gave him, John, a pretty big tip, hoping he’ll remember me the next time and take it to the next level, which I believe is called, nirvana.

* I stole the “Oh. Em. Gee.” from Emily at The Waiting.

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