Fluffy

It was, or rather should have been, a good day today.

I slept late, taking the dog for a rather muggy walk around 9:00. Friend drove to work while I relaxed in the passenger seat. If I'm speaking truthfully, Friend drove to a parking lot while I rested and watched traffic go by. We were early for our hair appointments, so we wandered over to Starbucks. Once there, I enjoyed a java chip frauppicino with whipped cream and chocolate syrup on top. I poked at it with my large straw, nibbling on the stray chip as it found its way out of the clear cup and between my curious teeth.

When it was time, Friend and I walked past the car and to the lovely Aveda salon where people were appropriate jealous of the treat I'd not yet finished. My stylist had called in sick, so I saw the owner - who charges more than twice what my guy does - for the price I normally pay. She was far too busy and talented to deal with scalp massages and shampoos so I was introduced to another girl who took care of the menial labor. Once my glasses were removed so she could begin rubbing my scalp, I sort of drifted along, doing what I was told and thinking nice thoughts. Once I was shampooed and combed, Owner returned. While she hummed and clipped, I thought briefly of gray hair.

"Owner," I said, as is my habit with each new stylist, "what would you recommend for coloring my hair? I have some gray and keep putting off actually making an appointment to fix it."

"Just do it." She said confidently. "Do a semi-permanent so you won't have a line when it grows, and you'll know that it's washing out if you absolutely hate it. But the effect is very subtle and shiny - you'll love it. Just do it."

"OK." I said, deciding I'd think it over. Then she sent her helper to the back to mix up the dye. I considered arguing - she did ask if I would allow them to do it then - but everything was hazy and I was in no hurry to arrive at work, so I shrugged and went along. Helper brushed the cream on my roots, then pulled it through the short length that remained after my cut. It barely brushes my shoulders and the color, I think, is quite subtle and shiny. My style, however, could only be described as big. I was Fluffy, formerly known as Katie. What hair I retained was nearly standing on end atop my head. I smiled and paid - the color and cut are quite pretty, I think - and frantically tried to mush down the hairsprayed fluff as I moved through the parking lot. As I was smoothing my hands over the top of my head, I heard my pager chirp a single time.

I scowled. I often am faced with reminder beeps because I miss the little song that plays when someone actually wants to speak with me. "Oooh, music." My brain - apparently also a bit fluffy - thinks, and enjoys the song until it goes away. I abandoned my 'flatten the hair!' plan to return a page as I wandered toward campus, trying not to overheat in the afternoon haze. I agreed to try to schedule an experiment for next week when I arrived at my desk and could look at the calendar.

I giggled when I caught sight of my reflection when I passed a shiny surface. Fluffy, I grinned, and was momentarily grateful that Friend finished and left the salon long before I did. I made my way to the office, sat down with a calendar and attempted to organize this event next week.

It was a big, um, Fluffing Mess. Multiple people were required, all of whom kept changing their minds on availability. There's this if X, then Y, but if A and not X, then Z, but if Z and X at the same time, then N. Given that I don't know and can't decide the likelihood of X or Y or A or Z or N, my life is a bit difficult. Given that one person in this FM (fluffing mess) is notoriously difficult, I was nervous the entire time. I did win in the end, but it was hours and 10 emails and 20 phone calls to get there. And the ND (notoriously difficult) one is being a bit...well, of a fluffing idiot. She was mean to me at the end just because she could be and I don't approve. She could make my life infinitely more difficult though, so I'll likely apologize to make future dealings easier. But not today - today I pout.

Between phone calls, I scurried to the bathroom, giggled at my hair once more, then brushed it firmly so that it was only moderately fluffy. Then I tied the top layers back, leaving only long bangs framing my face. I keep trying to shove them behind my ears - they're in my eyes! - but they don't reach. Upon closer examination, the color isn't all that noticeable. It looks to be slightly lighter than natural, but has a lot of depth. I'm still not crazy about aging - coloring the hair, dabbing on cream to prevent wrinkles I think are already starting to appear under my eyes. I sigh at the very thought.

Friend emailed just as I was wrapping up the FM and we trotted across campus to get delightful Greek salads and sandwiches from Panera. Ah, kalamata olives, how I love thee and your mellow yet salty goodness. And if a piece of feta cheese dripping with vinaigrette tumbled down the front of my shirt, I muttered a brief curse ("Fluff!"), tossed the wayward chunk of cheese in the trash and happily returned to my bread and salad and water.

The moderately overwhelmed and panicky feeling from the FM has subsided as I've made slow progress throughout the day, as seen through locks of freshly-colored hair that hang in my eyes until I shake or push them away.

"Those are going to drive you nuts." Friend commented on our walk back from Panera, when I sighed and shoved at my hair yet again.

"Probably." I agreed. But they force me to keep my chin up - if I look down, the hair falls forward and is in the way. So I find myself sitting straighter and looking up as I work and drip food on myself and wait until it's time to go to this show Friend wants to see tonight. There are worse things, I would think, than a physical reminder to keep looking up. At least until I can find some bobby pins.

I think this was - as it should have been - a good day.