On a Whim

Many of my worst moments have occurred as a result of my impulsiveness.  On a whim I have bought $80 diet pills only to have taken them once, not liked the jittery feeling and stuffed them in my desk, traded in a perfectly good affordable car for a car that I can barely afford and don't really like, and had every hair color and cut imaginable...

I have topped my dumbest moment..topped it with a topper that rivals the top of the toppers.  It all started with my looking for a personal trainer on Craigslist.  ( I have a cleaning lady and I want a personal trainer...in my mind I make a lot of money...in my mind).  Well, apparently I am the only person in the entire state of Vermont that is not okay with love handles because there are NO personal trainers in VT...not on Craigslist anyway.  But, there is a high school student that does hair extensions.  Sane people at this point would say hmmm. high school student, not a good idea.  Not me.  I was more excited than when I found out there was going to be a Sex in the City sequel.  Immediately, I emailed high school hair doer.  I told her that I had been looking for someone to do hair extensions for a long time and emailed her a picture of my flat lifeless hair.  She immediately responded and we set a time to hairify.

This Saturday I woke up at 6:30 and set off for the almost 2 hr drive north to total strangers house with visions of myself with Goldilocks hair beautiful, silky and head turning.  I arrived at a middle class development and felt relieved.  this was not a house that I could imagine a serial killer dwelling in.  I knocked on the door and an adorable, African teenager answered the door.  She barely spoke English but I managed to understand that she had a problem.  She couldn't get the hair. 

I had just driven 2 hrs...I was going back with long hair one way or another.  She said we could go to the African Market in Burlington and get the hair together.  I was game.

We loaded into my car where at first she sat there silent as could be.  I asked her the questions I am sure she has answered a gabillion (that's a lot) times.  Why did she move to VT from Senegal etc.  She was there because her father (whom I had not seen yet) had fallen in love with a tourist- I'm not kidding when I say that her stepmother was en elementary school art teacher.  She was as like an elementary school art teacher as yours and mine.  She was crafty and white and apparently in love with everything African- even the men. 

Anyway back to the hairy adventure.  African teen and I arrive at the African Market...it smelled like baby oil and fried rice.  The woman that owned the store helped us to the bin of hair where we found a close match to my own color.  Thrilled we headed back to the house.  That is when I met Dad.  Dad was a Rastafarian.  Dred locks, beanie, baggy linen pants and flip flops.  I have found many black men attractive, this one was not.  This was a face that only an art teacher could love.  With a rolled cigarette in his mouth he nodded to me.  I nodded back.

We went to the porch where I would sit for the next four hours while African Teen sewed someone elses hair into my now numb skull.  I was looking at the beautiful day before me and thinking that once I saw my beautiful new tresses it would be worth my wasting an entire day at a strangers house, 2 hrs away from my own. 

Go look in the mirror.  tell me if you like.
I rush to the bathroom where I throw on the light and look in the mirror.  Staring back at me is not the beautiful should- be celeb I was picturing.  No.  Staring back at me mocking me and now beginning to cry was John Travolta in the movie Hair Spray.  I had a lions mane- down to the middle of my back.  I looked like a washed ashore mermaid.  A strawberry blond rats nest sat atop my teary eyed face.  Then I thought of sweet little African teen, and I sucked it up.  I walked out of the bathroom and gave her a thumbs up- it was easier than coming up with words. 
You like it?
I mmmm- hmmmed.  I haded her a check- with a larger than necessary tip and said thank you, and left. 
On the way home I cried, and laughed and did everything but pay attention to the road.  God wasn't going to punish me further.
Luckily the hair has managed to fall quite a bit.  I look more like a Barbie Doll than John Travolta's stunt double.  I still don't like it, but its better.  I have decided to force myself to live with the result of my latest whim in hopes that it will be a constant reminder of what not to do.  If I ever begin talking about cheap tummy tucks in Tiawana...please STOP ME!