On Thursday evening last, I decided to make a huge jug of hibiscus-raspberry iced tea to put in the refrigerator so it would be all lovely and icy cold when I wanted some. Besides thinking of pre-cooled convenience, I was feeling all motivated to have something seriously healthy and really good for me there to drink instead of my fave diet ginger-ale. Yummy, but not absolutely healthy.
But while I was pouring the just boiled water and bulk tea leaves in a strainer, the strainer tipped toward me, spilling the very, very hot water and very, very hot tea leaves all over my right wrist, top and bottom. I screamed very, very loudly. When I got my wrist cooled down and iced up, I had a little cry ... mostly adrenalin fueled ... ruefully aware of how unhealthily my attempt at healthiness had turned out on this occasion.
By Friday evening, it felt quite a lot better, and didn't look too bad. I'd almost forgotten about it when I was removing dinner plates from a table of four diners when one of them simply could not wait for me to make a second trip back for her empty plate. She was all but waving the plate at me from across the table and I reached for it, stupidly allowing my ultra-heat-sensitive wrist too near the lit candle at the center of the table. Owwww! I leaned forward to balance as I pulled my hand clutching the pile of plates toward me, and WHOOOSH! Locks of hair fell forward, too near the candle and a largish chunk of the front ends of my hair sizzled off, along with the tip ends up the side of my face and part of my bangs. My face wasn't burned at all, but the smell of burnt hair and Elnett filled the room. Humiliation at my own stupidity followed instantly.
I was too tired to do more than rinse off the singed ends when we got home, but I could smell burnt hair all night.
While I drove Dan in to the restaurant the next morning, I silently argued the options with myself about what to do about the side of my hair with the singed ends and missing bangs. Trim it myself? Part it on the other side and do a comb over? My hair stylist was an hour away in the Big City and, on Saturday morning, booked up for sure. Working that evening in the current, asymmetrically fried state was not an option. What to do?
As we drove through the minuscule village where our restaurant is located, I remembered that there was a tiny salon right next to the only real grocery store. I noted that all the parking in front of the salon was taken. I made a deal with myself and the Universe right then that if there was a parking space available right in front of the salon on the way back, I'd pull in and at least see if they could help.
There was a spot, right in front of the door. One of the only two chairs was vacant, but the nice lady squeezed me in. So I now have a chin-length bob that I had not expected to have.
I've decided to like it, since not liking it won't help. I've been wishing a change of some kind, and my own klutziness made it happen sooner than I imagined. Be careful of non-specific yearnings for change, because (paraphrasing the Rolling Stones lyric) might not get what you want, "but you get what you need." It's an ill wind that blows no good, it seems.
So that's what happened.
Have a nice Labor Day evening.
