Call Me Miss Clairol

I just heard the funniest IKEA commercial. The announcer said: "Would you trade your husband for your ideal kitchen?" And I immediately thought "yep". Okay, that could be because I'm still smarting for his careless question on Sunday, asked in a rather snotty voice "how much grey hair do you have?". I guess the answer to that would be "a lot", but I don't think that was my response. I'm recalling something more along the lines of "F*%* off". Yes, I need to go to the salon. I need a cut, and apparently it's time to colour. My hair is dry and has some split ends, but hey, it's winter, and it's dry and staticky and hats are worn, and the option of drip dry is only available if I'm staying indoors for an hour or two. (Freeze dry is for those in their teens - it makes your hair soft, but the style is only appropriate for high school, not work).

The interesting (annoying) thing is that he has just a few greys (we both have dark hair), even though he is a year older. He only got the grey after we had kids. I, on the other hand, got quite a few after my internship from hell (I did 20 of 29 weeks and then quit. After spending an entire weekend crying I realized that my supervisor was nuts and I was going to end up as a patient in the psych facility, not an intern at the facility), and then continued to add silver hair after marriage, and kids. I guess it just means that I am easy to live with, it's the kids that are stressing him out!

Well, gotta go call Kate, my stylist. That would be for me, not him. Plus, as I already mentioned, I'm going to my conference at the end of the month, and I'm certainly not going with hair that looks like this!