Hair

Hair

Waiting for the elevator, I was passing the time mentally reviewing my “to do” list before catching the plane to my sister’s wedding. I’d planned to do this earlier but disaster hit first thing and we’d spent the day putting the pieces back together before the Taylor deal hit the fan. I absolutely had to catch a plane at six! Not attending my sister’s wedding because of work was not an option.

As I stood there, I happened to glance at the elevator catching my reflection in its shiny doors. I freaked! I’d forgotten to schedule a haircut! My hair was its usual wild, curly, rat’s nest, accepted now by my co-workers, however, seriously would not be accepted at the wedding by my sister, nor my mother!

Whipping out my phone on the spot, I frantically started calling salons. Ten minutes later I’d gotten a “no” from every one I had time to get to. I raced home hoping there was something at or near the airport if I could get there early enough. I did, and there was one salon on the corner that looked open.

Rushing in, I begged the lone stylist to do me. The shop was empty so I wasn’t cutting anyone, just probably keeping her late. I begged, promising a huge tip. Finally, somewhat reluctantly, she agreed.

Nobody at the wedding mentioned my hair, not even my mother, though everyone obviously noticed and my mother asked if I was all right at least twenty times. My sister spent much of the reception bursting into giggling fits every time she looked at me. It seems the girl in the shop was not a stylist, she just felt really sorry for me and wanted to help. There to fix a leak, she was the plumber.