Today was one of those increasingly rare days when I didn’t put my hair up immediately after getting out of the shower. (yes, I know this is bad…I already had a lecture from every single person in the salon. Other customers included.) This gave me a chance to actually SEE my hair for the first time in weeks. Yikes! I booked an emergency appointment with the nearest salon but was almost too ashamed to keep my appointment. I slunk in and plopped down in the chair with a very weak, “help me.” After the poor girl got over her aneurysm, she asked when was the last time I had a haircut. Embarrassed, I had to say I couldn’t remember. Last year sometime? A hush fell over the salon. (In retrospect, I should have gone to SuperCuts. Those people don’t judge. This place was very judge-y but they put little cucumbers in my water and peppermint oil in my hair so I guess I’ll go back.) Magazines and combs dropped to the floor. I’m pretty sure I heard a few hail marys from the back. Oops.
I actually really love having my hair washed by other people while I sip lattes, but I just plain forget to go. I forget a lot of things that are supposed to happen regularly, but not frequently. I
never hardly ever (okay, only sometimes) forget the stuff that is supposed to happen all the time, like eating, and paying the electric bill. But those once-a-quarter things like changing the air filter, cleaning the washing machine, getting a haircut, shampooing the carpet always slip through the cracks. Thus, the terrible hair and funky-smelling washing machine.
So I’ve devised a new system which I’m pretty sure no one has ever thought of before: I wrote it down on a calendar. Okay, maybe it’s not ground-breaking but I certainly had never done it before. I had only used my date book for things like “dr appt”, “Husband’s bday”, “buy more oreos”, etc. I pulled out my little Winnie the Pooh engagement calendar (you know you’re jealous. It’s very professional and I NEVER endure any teasing about it.) Now, for the whole year, there are things like “clean the washing machine” and “get an oil change” written on the timetables on which they’re actually meant to be accomplished. I don’t have to remember a thing – Winnie-the-Pooh remembers it for me.
And on Feb 25th, I will call the snooty (but awesome) salon to book an appt for the following week. I’ll still get the lecture about wearing my hair up everyday, but maybe I can avoid giving someone a stroke…