Golly, what an eventful day.
I have always been a proponent of long hair. I like it on others and I prefer it on myself. Well, blast my spontaneity! My tiny (4'11"!) stylist friend, Nadia, couldn't re-blonde me tonight like I'd hoped so I told another stylist, Rachel, to "do whatever you want."
And she did...
Sunday night vs. Tuesday night
I haven't had hair this short in FIVE YEARS. I'm still trying to get used to it visually, but I think I like it.
Right after Rachel blow dried and flat ironed my hair a stylist named Mark came in and asked the thing you hope noone ever has to ask:
"Does anyone in here drive a red Volkswagen Beetle?"
No, no, no, no, no, no, no! Not George!!!
I raised my hand and said, "Umm, I do." Mark said, "You'd better come with me." No, no, no, no, no, no! Not George!!!
I said, "There were two in the parking lot." hoping some mistake had been made and my comment would make everyone realize this. Mark gave me a sympathetic look-not a good sign-and said, "Yeah...but it's yours." No, no, no, no, no! Not George!!!
As I turned the corner I saw him. George. My George. My VW. George V. Dubya! He had been badly hurt at no fault of his nor mine. Poor Georgie.
I had no reaction. All I could do was stare at him and try to stumble through my brain as to what the next step would be. Mark mentioned to a stylist nearby, "Look at her, she's all calm and collected; I'd be freaking out." I didn't intend to be stoic. I had no intentions regarding my emotions at all. I finally reacted in the way I react to every thing else in my life, good or bad: I laughed.
There was nothing else to do. What good would screaming or crying or kicking do? So I kept on laughing.
The very day I come into a little bit of spending money, I have to buy a new windshield. I've been trying to get myself to clean out the car--now that it's full of glass bits I have an extra push. Hahaha.
Some punk threw a large rock into my car; nothing was taken; no other damage.