I have a great haircut. I think.
Yesterday I went to a new person for my haircut since mine wasn't working. This was stressful since it is really hard for me to find a hairstylist willing to work with my mop. Most stylists tentatively approach my head with a look of trepidation mixed with genuine fear while they reach out to touch the wiry stuff with words like "Gee, your hair sure is thick/coarse/grey/wiry/unruly, isn't it?" Hmmmm, you don't say? I've never noticed. . .
Anyway, Special K and I drove thirty minutes to go to a stylist a patient of mine highly recommended. It took forever to color and cut and I was running so late I had to ask my nanny to let my fav neighb watch the girls for thirty minutes since she needed to leave. And of course on the way out of the parking lot I hit another car. Yes, I have already put two obvious dents in my brand new minivan.
Husband was incredibly nice about it. He has learned that getting mad at me does NOT help. I feel bad enough about it without his comments. So he quietly inspected the damage and suggested I just get it fixed. Easy. I sure like him. . .
He never did comment on my hair.
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