One thing I am notoriously bad at is making appointments. I can put off stuff like that forever. I think it’s this newfound hatred of phone conversations that stems from some kind of control issue on my end – I hate being forced to think on the spot. Personal phone calls are perfectly okay; I seem to trust the person on the other end enough to get over my totally irrational fears, but things like calling to make hair appointments are a totally different thing.
Suffice to say, I sucked it up and called the salon to make a hair appointment. You’ll recall that the last time I did this was over seven months ago. What can I say? I had pretty hair for graduation, and then I started putting off making the follow-up appointment under the premise that I had just started work full-time and was getting into the swing of things. Um, it’s since been a VERY LONG WHILE and no, I still don’t think I’m in the swing of things yet but I somehow got the courage to call.
It went well; we talked about houseplants (she loathes them; her husband would love to live in a household jungle, as would her mother) and a bit about weddings (what is it that makes people want every detail? I mean, I like talking about it as much as the next person, but I am continually surprised at how interested people are. I think I am not used to being the center of attention.) and a bit about how I have wonderful natural highlights and how I should “never, ever, dye [my] hair.”
Is it just me, or is hairdresser talk really awkward? I find myself laughing nervously a lot. Maybe my stylist and I do not mesh well? I rather like how she cuts my hair but I hear all these women rave about their stylist and I can’t figure out how they have such an attachment to them. (Side note: I may or may not still be peeved at her for her insinuation that only weird children ask for books for Christmas.)
Also? Daniel has not yet mentioned the hair. He set up his espresso machine in the kitchen today while I was at work and I can only assume he is woozy with excitement over being able to make lattes in his kitchen, because he hasn’t made any sort of remark about it at all and he is usually very, very good about that sort of thing. Any creative ways to mention it that do not involve making him feel wildly guilty for not noticing and that do not involve twirling in a circle saying, “Notice anything different about me?”