Getting Back Out

I has been a long, difficult two years, and I must tell you that I have struggled. I really don’t want to dwell on the past. I do want to apologize for not writing more; it probably would have helped me get through some of what I have been dealing with. I will try and look forward, be positive and share with you what’s going on.

About a month ago, after quite a long spell of not going out, I decided I needed to get my hair done. I made an early afternoon appointment with my stylist, Allison. I had gotten comfortable with my previous stylist, but she left a few months ago.  I made an appointment with “next available stylist,” which happened to be Allison. She is very sweet and does amazing things with my hair.

It was a little cool on the day of my appointment. Since it was early afternoon, I wanted to look casual, so I chose a pair of black leggings, a black spaghetti-strap tank top, and an oversized yellow plaid shirt. I picked my white sneakers out from my closet. I kept my makeup minimal since the shampoo and rinse would make a mess of anything more. I used some BB cream and a little powder to even out my complexion, and put on some brown and pink eye shadow, along with some pink lip gloss. I put on some pink nail polish and felt happy with the result.

The salon is just a few minutes away, but parking can be limited, so I gave myself plenty of time.  Fortunately, I found a spot just behind the building. I was early, so I spent a few minutes in my car, checking messages. Ten minutes before my scheduled appointment, I walked around to the front of the salon and went in. The receptionist greeted me, offered me a cup of tea, and let me know Allison would be right out. I sat down at the table in the waiting area and enjoyed some tea.

Allison came out a few minutes later. “Gee? How are you.  It’s been a while!” she said as she smiled and motioned me toward the changing room. “Just hang your shirt up and put on a smock. I’ll be waiting for you out here.” She was as cute as I remembered.  She had on some black cropped jeans, black sneakers, and a loose black top under her apron.

She led me to a chair, then took a seat next to me as we decided what we were going to do.  I wanted to lighten up my hair a bit, going a little redder, as well as cover up some early gray around the temples.  We chatted a while, then Allison went to mix up the color.

We talked a bit while she worked, and Allison asked whether I had any plans for the weekend. I admitted that I didn’t but was starting to feel in the mood to do something fun. It was about then that I felt Allison leaning on my arm. My arm was on the armrest, and as she brushed the color onto my hair, she leaned heavily onto my arm. I’m sure it was accidental.  She’s a professional. But it was difficult to ignore an intimate part of her body pressing onto mine. I thought about and it seemed to me that hairstyling is an extremely intimate job. Still, I hadn’t noticed her do that before, and it was kind of “what do I do” moment. I was certain she didn’t mean anything by it, so I tried to ignore it.

Allison washed the color out, dried and began to style my hair. We discussed how I usually style it, and she blew my hair and flat-ironed it.  I kind of expected her to use her curling iron, but we decided that it looked pretty when it was straight. It also looked much longer. The color was perfect.

Allison finished up, stood behind me and looked at me in the mirror. We were both pleased with the results, so she had me go to the changing room, take off my smock and meet her in the waiting area. As I left the changing room, I almost stopped cold. Sitting in one of the chairs was a co-worker of mine. I guessed he was waiting for his wife. I didn’t know him well, and hadn’t seen him in a long time, but there was no mistaking him. I kept walking, and he looked up and seemed to stare at me for a short time – as if he thought he might know me but wasn’t sure from where. I saw Allison and went to her. She had set out some of the products she had used and after explaining them to me, took me to the cashier.  I remembered her from my last few appointments. She complimented me and Allison on how pretty my hair looked and commented on how long it has gotten. I paid for my service and a couple of products, and walked back out to my car, carefully avoiding meeting my co-worker’s eyes.

I left the salon and was feeling confident. I decided to run a few errands on my way home, stopping by the dry cleaner, the local BevMo and the grocery store. By the time I got home, it was about 4:30. I still didn’t have any plans, but I desperately wanted to do something. I remembered that the wine bar near my house opened at 4 pm, so I decided to go there. It was a weekday, and I didn’t expect it to be busy.

I though about what to wear.  After I freshened up my makeup, I put on a black knit minidress.  It had started to rain lightly, so I threw on a knee-length sweater and some ankle boots.  It was a cute look.

I found a place to park close by, so I didn’t have to worry about the rain too much.  I walked in and found a seat at the bar.  The bartender, Vanessa, didn’t remember me (it had been quite a long time since I’d been in). She offered me a wine list, and I selected glass of red.  It was fun to watch the few people who were there. I asked Vanessa a few questions about the wine, stayed for a few more glasses, and decided to go home before it got too late. 

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