I took the hair color class of my dreams over the weekend, and I am still nerding out about it.
Habit Salon in Arizona has been pumping out my most requested Pinterest photos from clients, and I have been dying to know their secrets for years. By some kind of magical luck, they came to Las Vegas, and my salon hosted their class.
If this means nothing to you, just know that any woman that can pull over $30 grand by teaching one class should be on your radar. After a whole night of debating waist hug/shoulder hug/lean-in hug for my photo op, I side hugged that woman! It was like touching a unicorn.
The legitimacy of this class was seconded by the purses of the attendees. When you see a Louis Vuitton bag WITHOUT logos all over, you know you’re in the right place. I stand in awe of a woman who will drop a crazy amount of money for an unpretentious looking bag. It seems more flippant than arrogant, and for some reason I really smile at that kind of ‘tude.
There is one more thing besides color education that stuck with me after the class.
I am not twenty.
The backbone of the hair industry is predominately young-ish girls, and I’m realizing that I’m definitely progressing to the older side of that. Most of the girls at the class had flown in town, but were disappointed to not fully appreciate their Las Vegas trip due to their underage status.
This makes me at LEAST ten years their senior, and so relieved my Botox appointment was last week.
When people ask me my age (which, by the way, is weird at an approaching point, right?), my knee jerk reaction is twenty four. Forever in my head, I’m about twenty four.
But, I’m thirty. Missed a couple years somewhere.
Thirties are an interesting in-betweener place to be. I’m loving the thirties, and feel much wiser and less inhibited than I did in my twenties, but I still feel like I’m straddling the line of “adult.” It’s like I’m just pretending, and no one has caught on. Since I’m married with a mortgage and kids, everyone is cool with me trying to do real life?
And there are so many “stills” in thirty.
Even though I’m a married mom, I still have dreams. I still get REALLY excited. I still look forward to holidays, maybe even more than now than I did when I was little. I still like glitter nail polish. I still call my mom when I have questions. There is still a group of “the older girls” that I deeply admire and am happy to tag along with. I still have “when I grow up” hopes…but have I already grown up? Or when does that happen?
And yet, I bonded with an acquaintance during a riveting conversation about grout.
Ah ha! There is the boring adult conversation I had anticipated.
So, maybe I have arrived.
All I know is that I better stay on my A-game with hair education so my job isn’t soon replaced by a girl who doesn’t understand the significance of September 11.