Love, Jimmie

Martie and I have an arrangement.  We have for years, ever since she decided to attend cosmetology school the day she graduated from college.  She would learn how to make hair look fabulous and I would let her practice on me.  In essence, I am her guinea pig.  And now that she is advanced in her career it is no longer called “practice” but “experimentation”.

Over the course of her career, I have been a blonde, a brunette, a redhead, a redhead with blonde chunks, a blonde with orange stripes, a blonde with brown chunks, and finally a blonde with red streaks.  I’ve also worn a glitter tattoo, fake eyelashes so long that I couldn’t even wear my glasses, and a feather in my hair.  Every new trend that comes along will be tried on my hair unless it interferes with my professional career which sadly eliminates the ombre in violet tones (I would rock that in a heartbeat), the beehive (this disappoints me like you would not believe), and the dip-dye (I’m not entirely sure what this is but I’m pretty sure I desperately want it). 

More than once over the years Boss asked “What have you done to your hair?” Once I determined that my new hair wouldn’t get me fired, I dismissed him.  Lynnette, on the other hand, has asked more than once over the years “Ooh, what have you done to your hair?”  Once I determine that she likes it, we discuss it at length. 

So back to our agreement, Martie and me.  Every month I give her a date night with her bohunk, Coach, and every time I need new hair, she does it for free.  Win/win.  This weekend was a win/win for both of us as she and Coach needed their alone time and I needed my roots done before my pending trip to Tampa.  I also needed to see my nieces so maybe win/win/win?  Oh, did I tell you about Tampa?  I’m going to Tampa. I won’t get a tan, as per usual, but I do plan on having fun.

So I was in the beauty shop “helping” her mix my color this weekend.  She had already wound my hair up into chunks and cut the foil and draped the cape over me.  We trotted off to the back where she got out the chemicals and started mixing.  Right in the middle of the mixing she said, “Oh shit.”  Being the curious type and also the type that defines herself by her hair, I hollered, “What! Oh crap, what!  What did you do?” And she said something in Swahili about mixing one developer with another something or other and basically she was pretty sure it was going to work but it had never been tried because these things had never been mixed before and then she slapped it on the roots of my hair and wadded it up in foil and stuck me under the dryer.  I heard her say to one of the other girls in the shop, “At least it’s just Jimmie” and they all nodded in agreement.

I wasn’t really worried.  Not really.  I trust Martie completely and truthfully, I am her best advertising.  I knew she wouldn’t let anything happen to my hair.  But I still had a moment of trepidation when she took the foil off.  I always have a secret fear, a very small one mind you, that she will take the foil off and my hair will come with it.  This day was no different.  The cursing beforehand probably didn’t help.  BUT!  She took the foil off and whacked my hair off into a fashionable cut and put some fancy-smelling hair goo in it and dried into the perfect coif.  And then said, “Viola!  I knew that would work.”  It was then that my stomach stopped quivering. 

Man, she’s so smart.  See why I trust her? 

Also, as a bonus for you because I’ve been gone so long, here is the picture I promised of me and Pooh.  I took it over Christmas after I hugged her tight for a while.  I love that girl.