I am talking about my hair, not about my cultural/philosophical/political heritage.
Angel commented the other day that my roots were showing. You would have thought I was wearing a see-through blouse, so evident was her disdain. She is, in fact, correct but I am trying to wait until the last minute before leaving Brazil to be “Vagnerized”.
Vagner is my heterosexual hairdresser whom I share with Mr. Understanding. He is a hottie, although after Katpat saw him run across the street she says something inside her died, his running was not masculine enough for her. BananaJo claims he gave her the once over at the swimming pool after a water aerobics session and was secretly thrilled. By Brazilian standards, he is expensive. He has a big tattoo of a puma on his right upper arm, has two children (different wives), and is a Leo. I have cheated on him twice when I thought his receptionist was skimming and came skulking back like a dog, mainly because the receptionist cheated on him and left for another salon, he makes my hair blonde again in just the way I like, and has never given me a bad haircut. He welcomes me each and every visit with a hug and a kiss. Even Mr. Understanding approves.
This is the dilemma: If I highlight my hair now, it will be yicky when I get to China and who knows how long it will take me to find a hairdresser there. Somehow, going to the hairdresser’s in China in the first two weeks of our new assignment seems like a bad idea. Lord knows I am not brave enough to go to my sisters’ flame-throwin’ stylist. Besides, I am spending all my $$$ on art and real estate these days and do not have enough left over for untested beauticians in the 425 area code.
On the other hand, if I gut out the next 2 weeks, my roots worsening daily, I risk Angel’s wrath, or at the very least, the withering glances of my thirteen year old. This is a difficult decision, perhaps fraught with unintended consequences. I am open to suggestions. But I am leaning towards ugliness and tough love.