Kahlil Gibran said “Beauty is not in the face; beauty is a light in the heart.”
How romantic. Sure…it’s easy for a poet and a guy to say that! I’m sure those words would fall from my husbands lips too… if he read poetry that is. Believe me…I am not so vain that I only see beauty in terms of something pleasurable to look at; beauty is so much more than a pretty face. It’s more than skin deep. And, philosophically speaking, the nature of beauty isn’t necessarily easy to define, at least not in my opinion. There are a myriad of elements to the definition of beauty. I get it….
Still, for this gal, who is none too pleased lately with her aging process, it’s not even a “light in the heart” but a monster in the mirror.
From my last post, you know that It’s been a really bad hair week for me. Turns out, it’s not been great for my sis either. Yep, it’s true. Sis, with her thick beautiful blonde locks that fall just past her shoulders. She too is as beautiful on the inside as she is on the out, by the way. To me, she is always a vision of loveliness every time I see her even when she’s down for the count with a terrible respiratory infection. Her bad hair day happened last weekend. Sis was spending an evening cuddled with hubby and Alexandre-the-Greatest watching the Saints game. They were loosing so sis decided to take a bubble bath to soothe her disappointment. I happened to text message her saying sorry that the game was going so poorly. She texted back: “Never mind the game. My hair is on fire.”
I’m almost ashamed to say that I chuckled reading the text. HA! I think. Sis is such a jokester. A couple of minutes pass. Sis does not follow-up with another text.
Naturally intrigued, I decide to call her. I’m still laughing at her text as she picks up.
She answers in an instant but she puts the call on Face-time. And then I see that the text she’d just sent is not a funny HA-HA text. She is in her robe, her hair wrapped in a towel, turban style. She is sobbing.
“Sis…what’s wrong?!” I asked, immediately concerned.
“My hair caught on fire,” she sobbed. “I was in the bathtub. I had a candle behind me and must have leaned back too far. I didn’t smell a thing because of my bad cold.”
OH MY GOD…seriously? Seriously!
“I’m OK, I’m OK…just shaken up,” she adds.
Her husband is at her side and confirms she is OK. He found her just in time. He had to have happened upon her just in the nick of time…in fact, just as it happened. Hair is highly flammable. Hair burns really fast!
By the end of the call we are all laughing. I know. It is NOT funny. The outcome could have been tragic! The visual aspect of the call; watching and listening to my sis as she detailed the events of the evening through tears and moments of laughter made it easy (as odd as it may sound) to crack a joke or two. Even though sis was so upset (rightfully so) we simply had to find levity in the midst of the trauma in order to get past the moment and ensure that little ears in the room (that would be Alexandre-the-Greatest) wouldn’t be traumatized as well.
Pointing fingers here….I have to say, Rocket-man started it. He’s on the sofa listening to the Face-time conversation. “Well,” he interjects at one point. “If there is any place to have your hair on fire, its while sitting in a tub full of water.” I couldn’t help but laugh. At first, sis was not amused. I would not have been either if the shoe would have been on my foot. Still…we were all trying to calm sis down.
As the Face-Time call winds down I tell sis that this just proves what I have known all along. “You’re one hot mama.” I say. Her hubby says nearly the same thing at the same time. We’re all laughing again…sis too…
It was a good way to end a bad situation. And, fortunately sis happened to have an appointment already scheduled on Tuesday with her wonderful stylist. I know that sis will look as beautiful as ever in the hands of Farrah the stylist.
As for moi?
I’ve spent the better part of last week wearing my favorite baseball cap…my military green Telluride, Colorado hat with 8,750 feet (Telluride’s elevation) emblazoned on the front. I’ve been wearing it because “colorist number 5” gave me an awful vibrant red color which was deep fuchsia at the roots and virtually a dark brown at the ends. As you recall from an earlier post, this was the same colorist who provided the “brilliant” advice that highlights are typically only done in the spring and summer. Naturally the bad color job and the stupid advice (not to mention having to wear a baseball cap to hide my hair for a week) sent me on quest to find colorist number six.
Sigh. I’m seriously about ready to abandon this hair-coloring business at this point. I’ve been coloring my hair for seven years now and, with the exception of Farrah, the colorist in Northern Virginia, I’ve yet to find someone who understands curly red hair. I suppose I should embrace the yellow-gray that frames my face and the mousey gray color that extends from the crown of my head to halfway down the length of my hair before becoming a pale orange. Perhaps my husband would like this look–which, by the way makes me look far older than my 56 years. We could surely allocate the money spent every five weeks to something else (our retirement account or cases of a good Cabernet, for example).
Nah….not yet! The fight continues!
So on to colorist number six.
Ironically enough, sis and I were in a salon getting our bad hair issues fixed on the same day, at the same time, although of course in different states.
The outcome? Infinitely better… although still not quite perfect.
Colorist number six knows how to do chunky highlights! She was able to tame the bad color job so I can now be seen sans baseball cap! I’m thrilled. I called sis just after the salon visit and texted her a “selfie”. Thumbs up from sis! All is right with the world! Of course, the proof in the pudding will come next month when I go back to colorist number six for coloring.
For now, the monster in the mirror has been kicked to the curb.