Why I Love My Stylist:

Today's Blondification of The Sheep went according to plan. The tresses are now returned to their state of suspended animation and I can resume pretending that the graylings lurking beneath never existed. I have mentioned my stylist, Amy, on several occasions and may also have mentioned that I adore her. She's a wee bit of a bully sometimes, but in the best possible way. A few of the reasons for the love are these:

My first appointment with her was due wholly to the fact that she was the one available that day. Luck of the draw, you might say. She knew instantly upon meeting me that I have no "hair sense" whatsoever and that she would need to direct me.

She brooks no nonsense. She is the trained expert and I a mere mortal. When, in that first appointment, I stated clearly (and perhaps a bit haughtily) that I simply wanted an inch taken off the ends and the bangs trimmed, she cocked her head and said in her inimitable way, "inch not much, I take more." End of discussion. I do not argue with tiny Chinese women. They will not stand for it. I have never had more complements on my hair.

She loves the handknits. I knit her a scarf for Christmas last year and I don't think I've ever had anyone respond so gratefully. The fact that she stole the one I'd knit for myself, forcing other stylists in the shop to intervene to retrieve it, was her way of telling me that she admired it.

She takes me out to lunch and heaps my plate with vegetables. She worries that I do not eat well (correctly, I might add) and is determined to make sure that nothing bad happens on her watch. I will not eat vegetables for my doctor. I will eat them for Amy.

After lunch, she insists that we shop and she makes me take a few risks. I am now the proud owner of a gold-tone handbag. Did I want a gold-tone handbag? No I did not. I bought it because she told me to. I have never gotten more compliments on my handbag.

She checks on me at the dentist. Dr. De Sade's office is right next door. They have a common wall. How such goodness can co-exist with such not-so-goodness I will never know. She thinks that Dr. De Sade is too rough with me. I would love her for that alone.

When she asks me how blonde I want my highlights and I respond by saying, "Well, I'm getting my truck fixed tomorrow and I need it blonde enough that it is done fairly quickly but not so blonde that they try to overcharge me....." she gets exactly what I mean!!!!!!!

And, ya know what else? When she goes to Thailand as part of her vacation, she thinks of me

And brings me back a pretty hand-painted box!

When you open the box, you find this:

A delicate flower. A delicate blue flower...my favorite color!

OK, so she's a little enthusiastic with the back-combing and I sometimes have the 8th grade prom hair going on when I leave the shop, but that has nothing to do with the cut. I will always know that the poof will die down and the locks will look faboo. Did I mention that I love my stylist?

To that end, I will be spinning like the wind in order that I might finish the yarn for her handwarmers and have them knit up for Christmas. And a hat...the woman needs a nice, warm hat. Oh, and a scarf! She should have a scarf! What else can I make...

SA