Today I finally sucked it up and went to get my hair done. The last time I went to a salon was in May, before my sister's wedding. "My girl" left the salon I frequent earlier this year, and I haven't had the heart to try on a new stylist for size (good ones are so hard to find). So, as I sat there and answered the small-talk questions so prevalent amongst the women in the beauty parlor, I tried to oblige this "new girl" as much as possible. The first bit of conversation we had surrounded the topic of why I hadn't been in for (gasp!) six months, and she clucked-clucked her disapproval while examining my damaged split ends and horrendous "roots." Instead of giving her the "real" answers to her questions, I just sort of shrugged and told her I've been busy and looking for a replacement for "my girl" Alayna. No good answer, really. I guess I am just lazy.

But, in my head, my real answer consisted of something resembling the following jumble of words:

"Well, soon after my last hair appointment in May, I got pregnant. And I was trying to stay away from dyeing my hair at that time, like a good pregnant woman should, until I miscarried in July, at which time I entered into a depression so deep that I could barely get myself out of bed in the morning, let alone think about maintaining any sort of hairstyle. After all, what the hell does it matter, in the overall scheme of things? I lost a child, but shoot, nevermind that, I better suck it up and get myself into the salon...a girl's gotta have her priorities? Right. And so, yeah, I'm just now, ya know, sort of getting back on my feet, realizing I have a body, mind, and soul for which only I am responsible. So...uh...yeah. Here I am, six months later. Capeesh?"

Too much? I have to smile to myself as I think of the possible blunt, truthful answer I could've given instead. I mean, what if I would've just spilled all of that out to the poor, unsuspecting, small-talking hairstylist? You have to admit, the look on her face would've been priceless.

I know. I'm so mean.

-Em