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I’m really vain.

There. I admit it. No matter how much I’d sworn I’d never do something as shallow as color my hair, the moment the first crop of gray showed up, guess where my butt landed? Right in my hairdresser’s chair with a whiny, almost-sobbing commentary about the unfairness of life.

And so began the process of hiding the gray. ‘Cause, really, there’s no getting rid of it, is there? As soon as the color washes off and the hair grows out, there it is, a stark contrast against my otherwise dark locks. (Locks? Do people really use that word to describe hair anymore?)

But it occurred to me on my last trip to “the chair” that it dang near takes a village to look good. Face needs a good scrub? Go in and get a facial. Need a mani-pedi? Back to the beauty salon. What about a massage to relax you after an especially stressful week at work? Unless your guy’s a master with his hands – and will take a twenty for his trouble as opposed to…you know (not that I’d personally be opposed to that, mind you) – you’ll need a master masseuse. See what I mean?

And I came up with all that while sitting in “the chair” with my head under a dryer.

I have to admit, though, there’s no way I could look half as good on my own. Which is why I continually try to find a way to get the super-talented Linda to move in with Mr. A and me. She has yet to take me up on it.

Damn.

Tell me, what lengths have you gone through to look good?

Happy Fashionista Friday,
Melia

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