The same only different.

Life is an endless struggle full of frustrations and challenges, but eventually you find a hairstylist you like.

~Author unknown

"You want me to do what?" "You heard me" I repeated. "I want you to take my picture." Lori, the stylist who cuts my hair at Colours laughed out loud...repeatedly. In fact she laughed so much that everyone else in the salon stopped what they were doing to watch the photo op. For years I went to someone else, and for years I came home and complained for days (or weeks) about how unhappy I was. I wielded the scissors myself, thinking I could "fix" what I didn't like, and endured foil and caps and the intoxicating aroma of permanent waves.

About 5 years ago I was given an ultimatum; find someone else to cut your hair or forever hold your peace. So I went to the underground hotline of hair and got a tip to call Lori. Lori owns this great little neighborhood salon named Colours, and I have to admit, I've never seen one of her haircuts that I didn't like. So, with a bit of trepidation, I made an appointment with her and I've never looked back.

My hair is naturally a dark, dull, crayon brown color with an ever increasing splattering of gray. Through the miracle of color enhancement it becomes a mixture of copper, honey, sunlit baby fawn highlights. (LOL) Seriously, it is amazing that all she ever does is cover the roots- see above, and it somehow manages to turn into a headful of "I was born with it" beautiful hair. And for a long time that hair was long, never to be more than just trimmed. That was, until I got a wild hair, and it wasn't on my head, and I decided to let Lori cut it. Cut it she did. Off came seven inches of hair at one time. My friends were in shock...some had never know me with hair not long enough to pull into a ponytail. I love it short, in fact, I told her last night that I didn't think it was short enough.

Being this age isn't easy. I envy women who can run a brush through their hair, put on some chapstick and sweatpants and look great. Heck, I can't even find a pair of sweatpants that are long enough. I am not "one of them". So I work at it a little harder and I remind myself that to be taken seriously you have to learn how to laugh at yourself.