Every once in a while the extremes of my life intersect on one fantastically memorable day. Like leap year, it’s not often, and always seems to pass faster than I can predict. Last week, due to an unpredictable cancellation, stars aligned. I found myself getting my hair done, in full salon mode complete with gossip and magazines I’d never subscribe to, and later, crushing the two hours of tedious scissor work with a helmet, mountain biking.
It was in the most girly of moments, under a hair drying orb in a flowered nylon chair, analyzing the chipping paint of my toe nails, that I stumbled upon a contest in the back of a women’s housekeeping magazine. A writing contest. Having no pen within arm’s reach and unwilling to risk lifting the futuristic heat orb, I attempted to commit details to the dust ridden vault of my memory.
I’ve spent the days following this encounter trying to remember the topic of the essay or the name of the magazine. I’m certain I’ve become the target of a new women’s marketing focus group as one of few women to have mountain biking now paired with bridal magazine articles, the latest in HID lumen counts backed with dinner suggestions for mom’s on the go occupying my browser search history.
But I found it. Game on.
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3 comments:
you should give us the details, then we can compete against you. What magazine was your salon secret shame?
Never. Good luck. I suggest getting your hair done somewhere in Minneapolis and reading the backpages.
was it perhaps anne's shop? if so, impossible! You're not giving me the info cause you know i can beat you! -m
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