Tag Archives: blond

Guess it’s time to dye my roots.

30 Aug

Alan and I have been living on different continents for much of the past four months. As a result, he’s viewing me with fresh eyes. At least, I’d like to think that’s what prompted him – completely unprompted – to ask this weekend,”Wow. How dark is your hair naturally?”

I looked at him steadily, and in the pause that allowed me to formulate my thoughts, he continued, “I mean. I’m confused. I’m not seeing the amount of silvers that I usually do, so you must’ve dyed it recently, but the roots are still really dark. Almost brown. How do you do that?”

Admittedly, I find it endearing that he doesn’t realize how most women would take this. (Flashback to when he compared me to a calico cat because I had swirls of blond, brown and gray hair.) And I’m under no illusion that I have great hair or even well-colored hair.

The truth is, I don’t know what my natural color is. I was blond as a child and started swimming in middle school, so my hair has had some degree of chemical treatment since I was 11. Since I now have a ridiculous number of grays on my head (random guess would point to 25%), I color my hair to help them blend in, rather than to chase some fantasy of being blond.

In any case, Alan’s fascination with my hair led me to explain that I couldn’t exactly define “natural,” but I was pretty sure it wasn’t actually blond. He seemed satisfied with that explanation, so we hopped a bus to meet friends in Georgetown for a mid-hurricane brunch.

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Apparently the blond doesn’t come entirely from a box.

31 May

I will tell you now that this is 100% true. And it’s horribly, horribly embarrassing. Especially for someone who prides herself on competence and logic. So here goes…

I’m selling my place tomorrow (knock wood). The buyer is slated to do her walk-through inspection at 2pm and then meet me at the settlement table near the end of the day. Everything needs to be in normal working order, and the repairs I agreed to during the home inspection (all minor) need to be complete.

So imagine my consternation today when – on my way out the door to hit a yoga class – I attempted to run a load in the dishwasher and nothing happened. I fooled with it for a bit and realized that the latch was somehow broken, because it wouldn’t catch and seal the door properly.

I ran to yoga, the whole time thinking, damndamndamn. That dishwasher has been great for ten years. Wouldn’t you know that it would crap out NOW, 24 hours before I’m supposed to sell this place?

During my downward-facing dogs, I kept chewing on the problem. It’s just the latch, I told myself, I’ll take a crack at fixing it.

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