In honor of my upcoming 39th birthday, I decided to quit agonizing about it and finally do something with my hair.
My current style, which I like to call aging-hippie-spends-too-much-time-in saltwater-chic, I believe is the main culprit behind people inquiring which of us, me or Christy, is older. This is intolerable.
So this morning Christy took me to her Turkish hairstylist here in Istanbul. She had an approximately 30 second, halting conversation in Turkish with the salon owner, pointed to my grey hair with exasperation, and then left.
My stylist knows the word OK in English and I know the words Hello and Thank you in Turkish. Hooray, what else do we need? Let's color my hair.
Some of you who know Christy might be saying, "wow you let Christy tell them what color to dye your hair?"
I know, that thought crossed my mind as I sat helpless with ammonia based goo all over my head. I resigned myself to the fact that the horses were really out of the barn on this one.
I comforted myself by remembering what she said as she left; "don't worry you can always grow it out."
The story has a happy ending. They were in fact incredibly competent and my hair looks much like it did when I was 20. This is good because I have been invited, this afternoon, to be a panelist for a United Nations Development Program agency seminar on organic farming. I'm pretty sure I will be the only Texan there.
It's a long story how this happened and I will post more after it happens but at least I can go with good hair. July 11, 2011
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