“I’m thinking of changing my hair up,” she said.
“Oh really,” I replied.
“Yeah, just a small change,” she added.
Cool, I thought, whatever makes you happy.
After my lack of response, she booked her appointment.
But she didn’t book with a hair salon. She booked herself to be a hair model for a stylist who specializes in creative color and who travels the world as an international platform artist. Apparently, these platform artists are the rock stars of hair stylists.
Basically, my artist wife would get her “small” change completed for free with the caveat that the rock star had control over what the change would be.
I was quite apprehensive about a rock star hair stylist who specializes in creative color providing this change.
Being the frugal individual that I am, I was quite happy she would get her change at no cost. Being as averse to change that I am, I was quite apprehensive about a rock star hair stylist who specializes in creative color providing this change.
Small change, I reminded myself. Small change.
I had two weeks of apprehension-filled happiness due to saving $400. And she had two weeks of eager, giddiness.
I should have seen it coming.
We’d been married for nearly 11 years at that point; and together for 17. Her previous “small” change about 10 years prior had been chopping off 15” of her then-flowing, blonde locks. They had since grown back.
The day finally came: March 5, 2018. I remember it like it was yesterday.
I took that freezing Monday off work. She left at 8:15 am for her appointment with the rock star.
I drove my son to Grade 1. I dropped my daughter off at preschool. The minutes turned into hours. The hours blended together. I picked the kids up. I began to make dinner.
Finally, her car pulled into our garage, which I could see from our kitchen window.
Apprehensive, fearful, and curious, I glued my eyes to the window while straining to see through the frost build-up inconveniently located in the spot where she was stepping out of her black SUV.
The pot on the stove started to boil. Water spilled over to the burner. As I dealt with that ill-timed catastrophe, she walked in the back door, up the four stairs, around the corner, and into the kitchen.
Small change, I thought, small change.
It was not my definition of small change. I don’t think it was anyone’s definition of small change.
Standing in front of me was my beautiful wife, except she had the most colorful rainbow of hair you’ve ever laid eyes on. If unicorns fart rainbows like my daughter tells me, my wife would have been the biggest pile of unicorn poop ever (ok, terrible analogy, I know).
“I like it,” I spit out.
Then our daughter rushed in to see mommy’s hair while I went back to making dinner, which saved me from explaining what, exactly, I liked about it. (The price, of course.)
Like with all “small” changes, it took me a couple of days to get used to it. But it grew on me.
To this day, the hairstyle — at least, the colorful hair — are her trademark. The colorful hair blends well with her colorful artistic style and, obviously, is quite a unique look. It makes an otherwise shy, socially awkward artist stand out in a crowd.
The rock star hair stylist had transformed her. Not only her look, but her confidence as well.
For this last point, I’ve always been grateful. My artist wife had found a piece of herself in her new hair color.