This morning was my six week check-up with the hair doctor. In plain words, I had to get a little color. Being the over 50 mom of a 9 year old, I feel I need to look younger than I tend to look and thus a little lighter color to my blond turned dark hair helps quite a bit. Handed down straight from my mom, covering the gray began like this: My mom and her friend Peg did their first "Ms Clairol" in our kitchen on Vaughn's Gap many, many years ago. My mom tells that she called her mother right away and told her what they had done because she was so excited. My grandmother's reaction, "Betcha look like a couple of street walkers!" I have laughed about that many times over with my mom since she told me the story. And then, the big day! I had just given birth to my 5th child and my mother decided it was time for me to "lighten up" the old roots. She promised she could handle it with a little help from, who else, "Ms Clairol" and handle it she did. Now, anyone who knows what can happen when hormones are all over the place and dye is applied to hair already has an inkling to the outcome. Let's just say, from the words of my grandmother, "Street Walker". The result was a lovely orange tint and a trip to my mom's hair doctor. By the way, the same doc I met with this morning and have gone to since the first mishap. Hand-me-downs come in many ways but passing on this guru who can make me look a little better amongst the young moms in my daughter's class is by far one of the best treats she has passed along. I know God loves me just the way I am and so do my husband and kids and and parents and co-workers. I know that I don't have to have my hairs done to be a better person, but it sure doesn't hurt to be a little prettied up every now and then just for myself. No orange tints and no street walking today.