08162017Headline:

A Little Out of Style

“What do you mean it’s too casual? These are my formal pigtails.”

Morning Readers,

I know I just mentioned it on Facebook, but let the record show that pairing coffee and sea salt and cracked pepper chips falls somewhere around a horrible idea.

It’s tastes like what you’d imagine a shipwreck in a coffee bean field would taste like.

Did I tell you I’m going to be on TV?

What?

Yes, that was the worst segue in the history of segues. Even worse than the time I moved from a conversation about pillows to a conversation about fly fishing with, “Sometimes the noble salmon is eaten because that’s nature’s way.”

Regrettably, I won’t be able to show you guys a clip because the producer said they don’t post them online after the segment anymore, so you’ll just have to trust me that I looked like an idiot.

At any rate, because I’ll be talking about the book, and had no desire to do that while looking like the product of a Chia Pet mated with a Sham Wow, I called The Keeper of the Locks.

“Hi, Stephanie. I need to make an appointment.”

“Paige? Nice to hear from you. It’s been a while.”

“Oh, not that long.”

“What have you been up to?”

“I had a baby.”

“I’ll see you Thursday.”

A bit difficult to put into words, the love I have for my stylist knows no bounds. Even on my most Ted Kaczynski-ish hair days, she’s able to wrangle my ridiculous head of hair into something passably human. Highlights, cut, free Diet Coke, she can do no wrong. Not only that, she also has toddlers, so we can mutually share “My kids drew on my couch and my dreams” stories and feel better afterwards. Seeing as I only get my hair done once or twice a year, however, there’s always a tiny bit of explanation in order.

Carefully, I let down my hair.

She gave me a once over. “Um, it’s down to your butt.”

Dejected in my swivel chair I’d be swiveling in if no one were there, I looked in the mirror and acquiesced. “With a well-placed bowl of fruit and chamber pot, I could be one of those carefully painted medieval women.”

She inclined her head. “Let’s get to work.”

Insert casual chat:

“I wrote a book.”

“I own this salon.”

“We really should see each other more often.”

Three inches gone and my roots discretely hidden away, I am a new woman, a bolder woman, a woman who also bought herself a new hair brush that’s for brushing wet hair and is stunned at its capabilities.

That’s right, I’m back to looking a little more pulled together, but still doing things like trying to eat cracked pepper chips with coffee. Unfortunately, The Keeper of the Locks doesn’t specialize in fixing wonky food choices, but she could probably shampoo the crumbs out of my bangs for a small fee.

Until Next Time, Readers!

Paige Kellerman blogs about marriage, babies and gin at www.paigekellerman.com, and is the author of At Least My Belly Hides My Cankles: Mostly-True Tales of An Impending Miracle. You can reach her at paigekellerman@gmail.com.

She also hides out on Twitter and Facebook.


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