Life in the Time of COVID–Grooming

I've always struggled with a balance between my vanity and practical function*.  I've maintained that, although there may be some interest in my personal appearance, I was not a princess.  The COVID–19 pandemic blew the lid off my plausible deniability. I came to realize that, when you have too much time on your hands, you become preoccupied with things that were never given a second thought.  Although I had routinely had my hair cut and colored, gotten regular manicures & pedicures, I didn't appreciate how important maintenance appointments were to me until all the salons closed down.  There was no denying it any longer.  My princess persona was out.

As the manicure grew out

My hair was in my eyes, my toenails were starting to catch in the bedsheets, and my fingernails were so long, they started to hurt whenever I used my hands.  I had friends with beautiful gray or white hair, so when my gray roots started to grow out, I smugly thought "I'll go gray, save money and look great!"  The trouble was, my gray wasn't attractive at all.  There wasn't enough of it.  My dirty blond hair looked like dirt as my highlights grew out.

As my needs became more urgent, I turned to Earl for help. 

Always willing to do anything I needed, he was really dragging his feet this time.  Truth be told, trimming my fingernails and toenails struck fear in his heart–especially when I nervously jerked.  I must say he was relieved when I let him off the hairstyling hook.  My hair coloring routine was complicated (highlighting required) and I wasn't that desperate yet.  I whiningly reminded him, courage is doing something in spite of being afraid, so he took a deep breath and became my official, but reluctant groomer.  He also became a pretty skilled barber.  At least for men with a fair idea of how much off the sides and back they wanted.  Men are so much easier to please than women.  I realize that's a very sexist over generalization, but I can live with that.

When my hair salon reopened, I made an appointment.  Although not the first, I'm sure I was in the first wave of eager women. When I called, I was asked if I was symptomatic (no), I needed to stay in my car until called by the stylist (OK), wear a mask (of course), sign in for contact tracing information (fine), and my temperature would be taken (no problem).  I was embarrassed when my stylist thanked me for following all the rules without complaining.  I mean really, she was doing me a favor, her work environment had undergone the most change, her income had disappeared overnight, she was home schooling her boys.  I, on the other hand, was only dealing with a first world problem.

Yay!  Short again

When my nail salon open a month later, I really was one of the first. Fortunately, I routinely choose a neutral color for my fingernails (chipped polish less noticeable) and since Earl had kept them short, I didn't have any nasty breaks needing a change. More importantly, I could resume getting pedicures with my Seattle girls. See, it's not all about me just mostly about me. 

Fingers and toes–we're back

The lesson:  You just never appreciate your maintenance needs until they're unavailable

*Previous post: Scooting While Vain