I think after a while she decided I didn't know WHAT I wanted so she'd take care of poor little Chiquita.
This is the result. Sexy, no?
I'm pleased. If you're in the San Diego area and thinking, "oh shit, I need to look great for the beach!" try hitting up the Hair and Body Bar out in Point Loma. Dahling, it's fabulous.
However, I didn't inform Sir of the hair excursion and the resulting expense, so when he told me he'd be getting drunk with me tonight (waggly eyebrows are happening on my forehead as I type this), I realized I ought to fess up. It's not like I can hide the shoe bag or the new mascara I bought (hey! My old mascara was from LAST YEAR. You don't want me to go blind, do you?), so I set out to write him an email. Here's how I prepped him:
Babe, I look a little different....
I walked into three doors, had a major car accident on Tuesday that I didn't tell you about that I had to go to the hospital for, I've got stitches holding my right eyebrow to my face from where I hit the steering column, and that mysterious bump I had on my forehead weeks ago is back, inexplicably. Oh, and I had your dog with me in the car when I had the accident. She's limping.
The great thing about emails is that, for dramatic emphasis, you have two options. You can send another email later, or you can hit the Enter button lots and lots of times. After lots of Enter-ing, I finally said:
Actually, I just cut my hair. The dog's fine. I'm fine.Speaking of hair, I think my husband is going to be one hot silver-haired lad.