Today I went to hairdo school. Why? Because you can take the N-Judah if you haven't reserved the family car, and because you can get a cut and color for half price. It was a disaster, from start to finish. Because I have fear of leaving the house, I was late to the train. Then the train itself was late. When I finally ran in the door, I found out the person I had made my appointment with had decided to play hooky.
Three hours later, my hair was an astonishing snowy hue–only the Eskimos would know the precise word for this color. Not only that, but it was way past lunch time. The teacher came over and helped my stylist redo the color. By the time my hair was ready to cut, I couldn't have cared less what it looked like. All I could think of was a huge chile poblano relleno.
I hit the sidewalk about four o'clock. Reeling with hunger, I couldn't remember exactly where I had come up from the train station.
When the train got to 24th Avenue, I called Tom and asked him to meet me at the end of the line. I said I'd start walking home if he wasn't there. I was almost home when I saw him breeze by in the Ford. He said he hadn't recognized me in my summer coat! (I had just changed from my black down jacket to my white one on June 21st). Since I was in possession of the family cell phone, I ended up walking all the way back to the train station to fetch him and the Ford.
Barbara asked me to take a picture of my hair, and said she would give me an honest opinion. What do you think, Barbara?
