If you’ve read my blog for long, you know that I often write serious stuff and that I almost never write funny stuff. In fact, if you didn’t know me in real life, you might think I’m overly serious and stuffy. But the people that know me in my non-writing life know that I can be pretty goofy and kind of a nerd. Today, I accepted a challenge from my friend Wendy at Weight…What? Her challenge was to write something funny. And since my friends Barbara and Liz begged me to write a blog about what happened to us on Saturday (and threatened to make me walk the plank if I don’t) I knew exactly what to write about.
I’ve always been a schedule-oriented person. I like to have a plan and I like to stick to the plan. And if you are hanging out with me, but can’t get with the plan, then I might just have to Gibbs-slap you in the back of the head.
Because I know how tense, rigid, and high-strung I can be, I was really shocked on Saturday when I somehow woke up relaxed, loose, and mellow. In my newly laid-back state, it didn’t even bother me that I was thirty minutes late getting up. When I got to town to pick up Barbara and Liz only to find them running about an hour late, I was cool. And when the plan changed to include an unexpected lunch stop with our friends Megan and Dale, it didn’t even phase me. In fact, I remember sort of laughing at myself for being so uncharacteristically flexible. Little did I know that the fun was just beginning.
Megan and Dale had staked out a table and were waiting on us at a popular chain restaurant. They had gotten a table in the bar so that Dale could be close enough to the TV’s to see the football games. The five of us sat and watched football and chatted. And I was so busy chatting that it took me about twenty minutes to notice that we hadn’t been waited on. Then, it was another twenty minutes before we got our drinks and had our orders taken. And another twenty before our waitress came out carrying a huge tray full of food.
It was now three o’clock. We had been at the restaurant and hour. And I hadn’t eaten anything all day. Not even a cup of coffee. Our waitress, Kelly, came around the table and set everyone’s plates in front of them. But when her tray emptied, I still didn’t have a plate in front of me. Kelly looked at me with this pale, tense face and then flipped back into her order book. She had forgotten to place my order.
When we had been at the restaurant for an hour and fifteen minutes, Kelly brought my plate out. Meanwhile, everyone else at the table has had appetizers, entrees, and dessert. But again, strangely, I wasn’t mad. I was definitely amused. I didn’t tip Kelly. But the five of us laughed it off. (This was when Barbara and Liz informed me that I must write about it for the blog.)
At this point in my day, I wasn’t mad or stressed out. Barbara, Liz, and I left the restaurant and headed to the beauty supply store to buy dye for my hair. Barbara is a trained cosmetologist. She does my hair on a regular basis. So, I wasn’t worried about anything going wrong with my hair. Until we were ringing up the supplies at the beauty supply store and my debit card crashed their computer system. Yes, my debit card CRASHED their whole computer system! Barbara and Liz were laughing so hard that the ladies behind the counter asked why they were laughing. When we told them the story about the restaurant, the manager looked at me and said, “Maybe you shouldn’t dye your hair today. Can you wait until tomorrow?” But I laughed it off and didn’t listen.
I should have known…
I had picked out my own color of hair dye. It was a sweet, mellow (like me) light brownish red. The three of us had voted on it and chosen it unanimously. We thought it was going to be just lovely and subtle.
Barbara hadn’t even quite gotten all of the dye on my hair before I heard her say to Liz: “This isn’t coming out right. I know this isn’t the color Sarah wants.” Again, I wasn’t stressed. I wasn’t mad. I was relaxed even. It was sorta like watching a train wreck happening but not really feeling any dread over it. She finished putting the chemicals on my hair. We waited the requisite thirty minutes and rinsed it and dried it. And when I looked in the mirror, I knew that the lady at the beauty supply store had been right. I should’ve waited.
Alas, I lived through the day. And where usually I would have been uptight and upset and frustrated, somehow, by the grace of God, I wasn’t.
So, what color is my hair now? Well, it’s a little brassy. It’s about three shades REDDER than what we had intended. When my brother came home and saw it, he stopped and his mouth kind of gaped like a fish. Then, he pulled his jaw up off the floor and said very diplomatically, “You colored your hair. It’s very interesting.” And I think that just says it all.