Wednesday, January 7, 2009

My country for real highlights.

So, wonderful Mr. Husband agrees that the time has come. He has agreed without much pleading from me. He is skeptical and still believes it may not be necessary, but Mr. Husband is logical and can be reasoned with. Mr. Husband also wants a happy wife. As with any new house diet, there are certain luxuries that must be sacrificed for the good of the stupid house. One of those luxuries that we sacrificed is my hair. No, no, we did not cut my hair or shave my head (as easily referenced by the surplus of photos that vomit onto this blogspace weekly), but we sacrificed my getting my hair did.

The time has come to put this travesty to an end.

For the past two years, the highlights in my hair have cost about $13 every three months. That’s right. About four dollars and thirty-three cents to see my head turn into a brassy rain of yellow that has continuously, steadily, and ever-too-progressively filled my head with what are supposed to be highlights that surely make strangers wince. Well, if the highlights do not make strangers wince, they, at least, make me wince.
I cringe when I pass by a mirror and, accidentally or without really trying, glance into the mirror and, in my peripheral horror, see this shiny shock of bright-brazen-what-should-be-blond that does not mix, match, or appear to flow on my head. It stops me in my tracks. Fortunately, I’ve been able to keep this super-awesome house in mind, which affords me the super-human power to shrug it off and say to myself, “who cares?”

And I have been able to do that for two years. Well, really for one year. For the first year of thirteen-dollar highlights, Mr. Husband lovingly applied the color to my hairs while wearing plastic gloves and us making jokes about his being a hair scientist. That lasted until the wedding. He did a terrific job. I received compliments from the ladies at the hair salon and I do not believe the comments were tongue-in-cheek or sarcastic. This highlighting of the hair by Mr. Husband was a great sacrifice on his part—one that helped endear me to this incredible man who would take the time to stop playing video games or saving the world with his gigantic brainpower to care for my silly hair. It’s not like I was going to die without the highlights. But I wanted them. He did the math when I told him a salon will charge $120 for the highlights every three months. He did the math and then met me in the bathroom with plastic gloves and a highlighting kit from Target.

He even did my highlights before the wedding, according to the advisement from the girl who was doing my updo. That’s care, man.

Since the wedding, Mr. Husband has been off the hook. I figured that I can do the highlights myself within half the time. Awesome. I’m concerned about efficiency when it comes to how this permanent stuff looks on my head. I’ll admit it. I can slap it on in fifteen minutes. I know, I know … you want to scream, “No! You lie!” But you’d only be encouraging me. Don’t do that.

When Harold came to visit in October,
he went out with me and Mindy. Harold, Mr. Twin Brother is always honest. Mr. Twin Brother is not Mr. Husband. He is not married to me. He can be more honest and discerning. He can be critical. While Mr. Husband also has complete freedom to criticize, it’s possible he fears a wife-total-meltdown. His fears are not completely ridiculous. Anyhow, Harold turns to me at dinner at Icon II and he says, “Listen, Sis, it’s time to start paying someone to do your hair … professionally.” I suppose he added the “professionally” in case I decided to start paying Mr. Husband an extra five bucks for taking on the the task of an eighteen-dollar highlighting job. Mr. Twin Brother was harsh. Mr. Twin Brother is right.

Whenever encouraging Mr. Husband toward a certain wifely-goal, it is always good to use math (since he can do it, and does it very well). I presented a true-life case scenario to him. I told him that a friend of ours whom he knows, who shall remain nameless, pays $180 every ten weeks to get her hair did. Let’s say her name, hypothetically, is Mindy-Melinda. Let’s say that MM pays $180 every ten weeks with a $20 tip. That’s $200 in less than three months. I told Mr. Husband that my “girl” (my salon) will charge about $65 for one color. That’s all I need. One color. And I’ll do it every three months. I’ll ride the root train for the extra two weeks to make it twelve weeks. That’s a friggin’ steal. And I’ll not buy shoes for one of those three months. That's a savings of approximately $135, if you figure a $10 tip on the $65 job.

Mr. Husband listened. Mr. Husband agrees that we’re through the worst of the house diet. Good Mr. Husband. You will appreciate the new hair. I promise. It’s coming in early February. (Of course, it’s going to cost a little extra at first to fix the mess I’ve made … but it will all be worth it in the end.)

1 comment:

facingthetrend said...

I can't wait to see it, but I am alarmed by this vow to not buy as many shoes. Alarmed and HORRIFIED.