I don't quote Oprah.
I'm not one of her disciples.
I don't even watch her show, anymore.
So please don't go getting your bloomers up in a wad over what I'm about to say...
I heard Oprah Winfrey give a word of advice one time that I try to live by.
Paraphrased, Oprah once said women should change their hairstyles every year. Even if it's just a small variation...wear it a little shorter, let it grow a little longer, add some layers, brighten the color. Just change it up a bit.
I try to do that. Change my hair up a little bit every year or so.
Earlier this week I went to see my good friend and hairdresser Gequetta (No, she's not black. Yes, she's white. Yes, she's lived on Sand Mountain her whole life, but no, her parents have not.) I purposefully got to the salon early so that I could peruse the hairstyle magazines. As I flipped the pages of one magazine after another, examining each photo of the hottest and trendiest do's, I found myself saying, "I've had that. I've done that. That one's ridiculous. I've already had that one. I've done that one twice...." I hated everything in the magazines. There was nothing new in there.
I realized that the metaphorical bubble of my youth has burst. Styles I wore years ago are coming back. I've always heard that would happen but I never thought it would happen to me. I'm young. Surely, it's not time to recycle my generation's fads and fashions.
Today I splurged on a manicure. When I wrote my check to pay, the little Vietnamese lady who did the manicure checked my identification, clearly studying the information thereon, and commented with a quick "hum."
Me: Hum? What's wrong?
Her: You '74. Me '75.
Well, how in the world am I supposed to respond to that?
And so the mental dialog began. What in the world was she trying to say? She can't believe she's almost as old as me? She's wondering how I stay looking so young? She thought I was as old as her mother? She thinks my crow's feet are deeper than hers? What? Just say it, little girl!
I can't believe I was so baffled, and furthermore, I can't believe I'm writing about it.
But I am.
And I. Am. Over. It.
Really, I am.
I need my beauty sleep:)