Thirteen weeks ago I made a hair appointment. Yes, 13 weeks ago. I timed it all out, scheduled the haircut in the middle, and scheduled the coveted color date six weeks later with the girl with magic hands. See, my 15 year class reunion is Saturday, and since there's nothing I can do to look 22 anymore, I can at least have cute hair, right?
So I wrote my appointment on my calendar. Wednesday at 10:30. It's been there for weeks - 13 weeks to be exact. I've been looking forward to it for days - it's like a pampering session from heaven (other than the wax part, that hurts like...well, it hurts).
Yesterday, Tuesday, I walk in the door at 2:30 and play my messages. "Rhonda...is everything okay? I'm just calling because I have you down this morning for an appointment at 10:30 and wanted to check in with you since you are not here..."
WHAT?!?! I check my calendar - Wednesday. I check my appointment card - Tuesday. I want to scream. I want to cry.
Then it's my turn to leave a message. I grovel on and on..."I'm sooooo sorry. I had it written down for Wednesday...blah, blah, blah...I'm soooo sorry...call me so we can reschedule."
I felt way too guilty to even mention my reunion on Saturday. So much for the cute hair, I was just hoping she could get me in sometime in the next month.
This morning she called. Her first words: "Can you be here at 8:30 on Friday?"
I LOVE her. Guess who'll be getting a big 'ol tip.
No comments:
Post a Comment