I finally got my hair done and I feel semi-human again

113 days. 16 weeks. That’s how long I went between color appointments. It was a long, unprecedented journey during which my roots were one of the most minor things I had to worry about—but they were a constant reminder of all of madness happening in the world outside of my house (which I’m still barely leaving).

When we were on lockdown and my colorist was delivering single-process formulas to other clients, I begged her to come to my house even just to do my foils. (I could handle the rest.) After salons reopened, I begged her to come again, but she was booked solid for at least a month. (I made an appointment for the week after she started working again but ultimately cancelled because I was still afraid to leave the sterility of my home.)

During this time, I barely blow-dried my hair and came up with a few root-hiding hacks. I probably wouldn’t have survived without Goody’s extra-wide headbands. When I had a Zoom, I’d slick back my wet hair with gel, which helped blur the line between brown and blonde. This was the day before I got my hair done:

Last week, I asked her one more time if she could to my house—but she had an opening the next morning so I agreed to go there as long as she would do my hair outside. I was surprised at how not anxious I was about my appointment. Obviously knowing that the only time I’d step inside would be to rinse made me feel more comfortable—and she has a studio suite so it was just me and her (both wearing masks the whole time). I watched her wipe down the chair and literally didn’t touch anything.

And when I was done, I was so happy not only to have normal hair again, but that it was over with as well. As I got in the car I thought, At least I know I have at least 100 days until I have to go back. (Ironically, this was the day Florida saw it’s highest one-day increase in cases.)

Oh, and have I mentioned that I hadn’t gotten a haircut since THANKSGIVING? This was not by choice. Making an appointment was at the top of my list the week Florida shut down, and since I was already in pre-panic mode essential errands like going to Costco and stocking up on supplies took precedence. Since my colorist’s brother is a stylist who has a suite in the same building, I asked if there was any way he could squeeze me in for a trim. It must have been my lucky day because he did.

Even though my hair is back to “normal,” we can all pretty much agree that nothing else really is. We’re watching the number of COVID cases rise exponentially, and fellow parents aren’t all that optimistic about the coming school year, which is slated to start on August 10. And thanks to all the anti-mask dummies running around out there, I’m almost willing to bet that my son is going to be starting middle school from home.

If a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? I’m starting to feel the same about my hair… If it’s cut and colored but no one other than my husband and son see it, does it really matter all that much? Or better yet, is it worth taking the risk of contracting COVID? Today, I don’t think so—which means I probably won’t be seeing my colorist again for at least 100 days.