Hoping My Dreams Don't Come True

Last night I had one of those dreams you just know comes out of what you've been dwelling too much on. (Okay, that was a lousy sentence, but so what? I'm the author and finisher of very bad grammar once in a while.)

I'll admit up front, I'm hair-obsessed. But I haven't met a real woman yet who isn't, so I won't feel bad that I think about my next haircut right after getting a recent one. I think about changing my color. I think about what it would be like to have long, thick tresses or short, straight, course hair.

I've also been thinking about a concept used in martial arts about pulling your opponent toward you rather than resisting him. This concept has nothing to do with hair, unless I stretch the analogy, which I won't. It was just something I read in a book related to an area of struggle I'm trying to find a new way to deal with.

Combine those two thoughts with ice cream before bed, and you have the making of a wild dream.

In this dream, I am sitting in a hairdresser's chair.

She: So what do you want done with your hair?
Me: A change.
She: What's bothering you about the way it is?
Me: It's too choppy in the front. It's uneven.
She (slicing through my hair with pinking shears in about four seconds): There! Now it's choppy all over. What else is bothering you?
Me: The color. It's mostly a brown I like but there's hints of grey. Can we get rid of the grey?
She: (pouring bottles of liquid I can't see, through my hair. Spins me toward the mirror): There! Grey's gone!
Me: But now it's striped with green and yellow!
She: You asked if we could get rid of the grey. We did. Anything else bothering you?
Me: The texture. It's always soft, which is good, but I wonder if I could get more volume in it somehow.
She (taking my index finger, starting to plug my finger into the electric socket below the blow dryer cord):---


That was it! I bolted awake , upright and decided to give thanks for my sort of uneven, brown, somewhat/sometimes grey-tipped, soft-but-not-voluminous hair.