I wore green today, not because I’m Irish, but because I have traumatic memories of not wearing green. I remember one St. Patrick’s Day in middle school that I showed up to school and didn’t have green on. The rest of the day I endured the incessant question “Where is your green?” and then was pinched repeatedly. By the end of the day the backs of my arms were actually sore. Needless to say, I always wear green on St. Patrick’s Day, even though I’m not Irish and I don’t really celebrate this Irish holiday.
I have this love/hate relationship with getting my hair done. I love the process of having my hair washed cut and styled, however I hate the process of deciding what I want. I went today to a new girl. I should have known this wasn’t a good fit when I called this morning and got a same day appointment. Then the obvious question-what do you want done? I just needed my roots highlighted and a trim. Sounds simple enough right? Wrong. Well then I find out that the girl who did my hair last time didn’t write down what she did. Then they always ask me all of these questions–toner, low lights, bleach, length? I don’t know, I thought this was why I was paying almost $200. Why can’t I just say what I want and then they know how to make it happen? She fixed my hair and I walked out looking like a wannabee 80’s rock star. My hair was frizzy and huge, not to mention somehow my bangs are bronze and orange? Hmm, I’m pretty sure I didn’t ask for that.
So at the end of the day with my green shirt and my frizzy hair-I felt like a wannabee Irish Rock star.