Hair by Patrick

Well, I am fabulous.

Why? I just had my hair cut by Patrick, possibly the best hair stylist in the city. My mother gave me a gift card for Christmas and I put off using it for months and months because I was waiting for my hair to grow long enough to give him something to work with. The time came when I could not stand my grown-out cut one more day and I made the call. I have yet to find out what Husband thinks. If he really likes it then I will justify spending $40 a pop for a style.

After I came home I played with my makeup (I may be 36 but I'm still a girl) and gave myself some Rockstar eyes just for fun (really, really dark shadow all around) and tried some light pink gloss. I didn't have time to wash it off before the house erupted in its normal chaos, so I did the dishes looking glamorous. Well, I thought I was glamourous. The girls each came in and told me I was wearing too much makeup. We rockstars always wear too much makeup. It's the music in us.

Husband just came home and declared the hair cut a success. He also said I looked like I'd been punched in both eyes. I guess the Rockstar eyes are only for clubbing nights.

Husband and I both completely forgot our 14th wedding anniversary yesterday. We were sitting around in the evening and he looked over at me and said, "Happy anniversary," and I gasped with horror. Isn't it usually the wife who's supposed to be all upset when her husband forgets? I honestly hadn't even thought of it up to that point. At least Husband had remembered a few times throughout the day; he'd just forgotten to mention it when I was around. We ended up doing nothing. Oldest is at camp and she's our designated babysitter (lucky her), and we usually have to book my parents as babysitters. Maybe we'll get out this Friday and see a movie in a theater, something we haven't done in months. That would be fun.

For the record, I don't go clubbing. I'm waaaaay too tired in the evenings for that. The thought of going into a hot, crowded room and having my ears assaulted by deafening, bass-heavy music while lights flash on and off is no longer my idea of fun. That's how old I am. Now my idea of a night out is dinner and a movie, unaccompanied by children. We're home by 11.