Because I'm Worth It

To embrace fully my inner-Britney Spears, I skipped the shaved head phase but got my hair professionally colored. Given that I've been fairly blond for 40+ years, to me, my hair looks black. My hairdresser insists it's only a five on a scale of 1-10. Regardless of shade, I think it's fun. I'm just glad my arm hairs don't match.

The kids in the neighborhood, who are now sporting blond Hannah Montana wigs, are aghast. "Why did you DO that?" the girl across the street asked. Adults are much more polite but apparently it takes some acclimation. My girlfriend Liz was very complimentary the other night but then a few hours (and a glass or two of wine) later the truth came out. She was still nice (as she always is) but a little more honest. "Okay, I have to say, I'm just now beginning to get used to it." Her husband, on the other hand, remained speechless.

I asked my hairdresser during the process, "Is it true that people always look best in their natural hair color?"

His response, "I don't know who started that rumor but I know this much: it wasn't a f*ing hairdresser."

Yeah, probably not anyone at L'Oreal either. Anyhoo, thanks Robert! I feel like a million bucks.

Girl Scout Cookies

It's that time of year when everyone comes out of the woodwork shilling for the Girl Scouts, Boy Scouts, Jazz Ensemble, etc. We currently have Thin Mints coming from the little girl across the street, Fat Free Chocolate Chips from her sister, Cinna-Spins (whatever they may be) from our niece, more Thin Mints from the daughter of a friend from High School, Caramel deLights from the daughter of another friend from High School, popcorn from the boy next door, popcorn from some other boys up the street and two Thanksgiving pies from another neighbor's son.

Why do I care? Well, not only did I just get back from the fat-farm only to eat handfuls upon handfuls of chips, I also dyed my hair brown. And then I realized that one of my son's friends from school -- whom I've met on multiple occasions and blogged about yesterday -- asked me recently, "Who are you?" as if I was no longer recognizable.

Dark brown hair? Fat? OMG! Maybe he thought I was Britney Spears . . . I hear that drugs can age you twenty years.