Larry and I went to an honest-to-goodness cocktail party on Saturday. Oh, yes, we did. Many of my friends and acquaintances were there, and I sat down next to Cheryl, the lovely lady who teaches my David (along with other homeschooled teens) the basics of high school biology and chemistry. Needless to say, I adore her. She greeted me with "Oh, I love your hair! Did you just get it done?"
"Yes! Thanks, I like it, too!" [
Oh, wasn't I smart to schedule that hair appointment in time for the party?]
She continued gazing at me. "That color looks really good."
[
Oh, dear, does she think I had it colored, or is she just complimenting my natural shade? Let's move past this. Quickly.] "Thanks!"
Let me note here that I have never known Cheryl to simply blurt out the first thought that comes into her mind. Ever. Her naturally reserved demeanor makes me feel as though I am a chattering magpie. And yet here she was now, continuing to stare at my hair while saying, "Have you had it colored before?"
[
What now? I could lie and let her save face. But the truth will out.] "Actually, it's not colored - it's just my normal shade. The encroaching gray looks like highlights!" I ended with a disarmingly lighthearted laugh meant to communicate amusement and a complete absence of umbrage. [
There! That should do it.]
But no. Still eyeing my hair, she took a page out of
my own foot-in-mouth playbook by asking, "Are you
sure?"
Um, yes. Yes, I'm sure. I'm way too cheap to pay for color treatments. But I didn't say that. I just stuffed my mouth full of canapés and nodded amiably. Because, you know, it's not every day I get to go to a cocktail party.
[Clairol Ad image: I Am Grateful]
