Hair today, gone tomorrow

I have been going to the same hairstylist for about five years. For the most part, my "go to the salon" outfit consisted of jeans, a salon-friendly top, pointy-toed heels or boots, and a big purse--so big that it got its own chair. On two occasions I showed up in sweaty running clothes--poor Ann. More ALS friendly clothing became the standard about 18 months ago, until today.

It's been almost two months since I saw Ann; there are stairs in her shop and I don't do stairs anymore. We tried the home salon of one of her co-workers--that only worked one time. Ann is so kind she offered to come to my house, so we made a date for this morning.

What little dignity I possessed disappeared at 8:52 this morning. My beautiful, lovely stylist came to my house but I was not yet ready. I was still in bed with messy hair, watery eyes, dry mouth and cracked lips, a vision to behold. Adding to my allure were my practical--though hideous--briefs. Before John rolled me to the bathroom, Ann tactfully excused herself.  I emerged, still clad in my pjs, light years away from the be-booted and be-pursed woman of only a few years ago.

Thank you, Louise for forcing humility down my throat.  Do what you will, I still have great hair.