Red in the Face

Why? Because I’m so angry.

Why? Because my hair isn’t red.

I went to the salon to dye my hair, but the end result is anything but red. I feel like I took 10 steps back in the hair game.

Why? Because I’ve been bringing this picture of what I believe to be my soulmate hair color (in the red family) to the last three hair appointments, and each time the stylist (who is very talented) tells me that we have to reduce the blonde and move toward brown before we go toward red.

Fine. She’s considered the expert in dying hair red in DC.

So, we’ve been going to light browns with reddish undertones and some blonde highlights for contrast, and today was the day when we were supposed to make me a redhead. She seemed hesitant when she looked at the photo I brought, and like an artist who refuses to budge even though you are a customer paying LOTS of money (Correct. No one put a gun to my head.), she said that she would do something more subtle, but in the direction of what I wanted.

Ha!

I write to you now as someone with light brown hair with blonde highlights. That’s so mainstream. And I am anything but mainstream.

I’m weird.

That’s why I wanted to go red. Redheads are mysterious and awkward, qualities I think I embody.

I can’t fill the shoes of a blonde; I just don’t have that much fun.

Jackie-fun, yes. But not blonde-fun. That would involve dates (more frequent than annually) and drinking (things other than San Pellegrino).

And I’m not this shallow of a person (I’m really not), even though I’m refusing to let go of the anger I feel about my non-red hair. It’s just that when you have the taste of ‘what’s next?’ always lingering on your tongue, sometimes the only things it seems you can control are tangible ones, like the clothes you wear, the food you eat, and the yoga mat you use (I have two options).

I also got my period the morning of the hair color debacle, and that leaves me severely emotional and feeling like ‘whatever is next’ could only suck. A lot. So my outlook on life (and I guess my hair) nosedives.

My reliably annoying sister also called me in the middle of my hair appointment to check on progress. The salon is on the first floor of the building where she works, so she wanted me to go upstairs and show her the finished product when I was done – which she communicated to me by text message earlier in the day.

Apparently she thinks I need double reinforcement.

Apparently she doesn’t get that for me, haircuts are like massages and movies – I don’t want to be spoken to in the middle of my respite of relaxation from regular life.

I left the salon, called my mom and started to cry, and made no climbs in altitude to see my sister. I walked toward my yoga studio, mat slung on my shoulder in a brown yoga bag with hot pink polka dots to boot – to match the hot pink yoga mat inside.

While on the phone with my mom, my sister called me and I hit “Ignore.” So she called my mom to say that she just went into the salon and they said I had just left. I should meet her at the metro.

Do you see what I’m dealing with? Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that my sister is now also my neighbor. She moved into my building this past weekend. My sister is basically a walking anxiety attack, which doesn’t mesh well with the Zen pace of life I try to lead.

She’s calling as I write this. Story of my life.

If she knocks on my door, I’ll flip my lid.