I never thought I’d say this, but most of the time I don’t notice all the staring anymore. Yeah, I can hardly believe it myself. There are times if I’m alone I feel more self-conscious, but while we are all out as a family I’ve become a bit blase about it all now. Yes, my kids are cute and no I’m not from around here.
But from time-to-time we still get the folks who take pictures of us and our kids with their camera phones. Now that, I can’t stand. I don’t know why anyone who doesn’t know us personally would want a picture of us. What would you do with it anyway? A few weeks ago we were at the mall and I was sitting with numbers 2 and 3 and a man came up and asked me if he could have someone take his picture with us. Um, no. He looked utterly dejected that I had said no. Really? Why? I’m still trying to understand how some minds work.
They are probably the same minds that wonder how my mind works as well. Why wouldn’t I want a digital image of me and my kids with a total stranger?
I’d love to say that after almost one year I no longer make cultural faux pas. That I have it all together. But if I’m honest, and I do try to be, I still make mistakes. Sometimes they are big and sometimes they are small. But I like to think they are forgiveable at this point. Relating to other people takes work and understanding no matter which culture you are in. I’m still learning. I can’t imagine I will ever stop that process. Here, I’m finding things I like and will take with me. I’m learning and growing. I’m falling down (a lot) and getting back up. That’s just how I do things. I would say that’s how I roll, but I’m not hip enough for that verbiage.
I had been stewing over my hair fiasco for a few days. As predicted (by me) my hair did not lighten as it should have once washed a few times. So I made the call I didn’t really want to make. I called the salon–ready to fight for my rights… my right to have blonde hair, that is. The manager was super. She wanted to make it right and I found that she remembered me because she had offered me a chair and I had said no thank you.
So, it looks like I will be getting new hair in a few weeks when my hair has had time to rest up a bit. Stay tuned… my quest will resume. Until then, I’m going to try to find some more substantive things to blog about instead of the color of my hair–could be a stretch.
I sort of figured things were on shaky ground when the salon I had an appointment with called to tell me the colorist I was going to see wasn’t there, but they had someone else who could do it. “Is he experienced, because I want to go blonde,” I asked. “Yes, yes,” he replied. Many people will say yes, even if it’s no, but I was desperate for change, so I went ahead with my blonde ambition appointment.
Why blonde? I’ve had black hair, red hair, auburn hair, regular brown hair and now graying hair. I’ve never had this much done to my hair, ever. I was ready for a change–a big change. Why not?
I got there at five. The Hubs and kids went to a birthday party while I had my supposed two hour appointment (it was actually 3.5 hours when all was said and done). I described what I wanted, showed him a picture of my kids and their hair. He showed me some colors and I kept trying to tell him the blonde color in the book was too brown, I wanted blonde–not brown, I’m so done with brown! “Ok, ok. Blonde with lighter highlights.” Yes! We get started and after the color has developed he washes it out and I look in the mirror: It’s brown. Not even light brown. It’s cocoa brown. A very familiar brown. “No, no, it’s blonde,” he says. Not where I’m from, I reply.
He then tells me the highlights will help and at this point I have no choice but to proceed. I have three guys working on my hair while two are waiting in the wings watching. I have no idea why. Perhaps it’s because they don’t often get to work on hair that’s not dark brown or black. One guy gets me tea. One of the other guys asks where I’m from and then tells me Americans are cool; that I’m cool. I assure him that nowhere in America am I considered cool. They all laugh. But I’m not so jovial. My dreams of blondness are fading fast and there’s nothing I can do about it.
The foils take a long time and by the end of the time I’m exhausted and my neck is aching from laying on the basin while they rinse out all the creams and such. Two guys start blow-drying my hair and it is clear that I have brown hair with some gold highlights. He says, “You’re not happy.” Bingo. But this is not a place where the customer is always right so I know I will still pay full price (a rather large price) whether he did what I wanted him to or not. I told him it looked ok, it’s just not what I had dreamed it would be–you know, blonde, like I said when I came in. He seems unaffected by my negative response and then tries to sell me $30 bottle of shampoo.
Um, no thanks.