Never Ending Day

May 20, 2010
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Traffic. What is there to say about traffic? It’s annoying and impossible to get around. Sometimes traffic isn’t that bad. For instance if there is no rush getting anywhere and got no place to be at a specific time then it is too terrible to deal with. But when it is the opposite, it could never get worse. Eyes glued to the road about to pop out of their sockets. Hands sweating in panic, legs twitching to go faster but the old lady in the car ahead will not go one mile over the speed limit. Been there? I was 5 minutes away from the salon (unfortunately it was in the heart of the shopping mall, so on a Saturday it was streaming with people) but it felt like it was going to take at least another 20 just for me to get off the highway ramp. My nail appointment was in three minutes. A few minutes late wouldn’t be too bad, I could tell the small figured worker I dropped my purse on the way in and had to gather all my belongs as it was spread all around the pavement. But what excuse for 25 minutes late. I had nothing. Maybe I could say my dog ran away and I had to go catch it before I could leave my house? Nope, that wasn’t believable either. Thoughts kept running through my head. Luckily it passed by time, the parking garage was filled, but it was my lucky day, a spot right in front. Maybe that penny that I picked up yesterday was still bringing me luck I thought to myself. Weaving through people, and dodging their bags I reached the salon out of breath. “I’m here, so sorry I am late! My dog got out and…never mind least I’m here now.” The high pitched lady at the desk pointed me to the table to start my manicure, “no worries, you sit back and relax.” I listened to the lady, after I got settled in the comfortable massage chair I was very content.
One hour down, two more to go till pictures. It was prom day. Everyone believes the day before Christmas is one of the most hectic days; getting last minute gifts, wrapping presents to the best of your ability, but everyone is wrong. Prom day is very stressful. There’s so much to get done in so little time before pictures. The guys have it easy. All they got to do is wake up, shower, put on their suit and they are good to go. But girls, we got it rough. The nails, the hair, the makeup, the last minute touch ups; trust me the list could go on. Luckily, my nails were done. The day was going smoothly, or so I thought. It would make sense since I was already at a salon to get my nails done, why not get my hair done their too? But instead I had to drive back another 15 minutes to a different salon. It was worth it though. Onega (my hair stylist) could do anything. She would be able to turn the messiest hair into a beautiful masterpiece. I got there with no traffic, making all the lights as they were green. Trying my hardest to be careful to not mess up my dark red nails I slipped the little black robe on. This blonde, blue eyed, thin-waisted girl approached me with a smile on her face. Trying not to stereotype I smiled back. “I will be doing your hair today,” she said in a high pitched voice. “Onega had an emergency and had to leave early.” I froze. But I had no time to argue, I sat down in the salon leather black chair hoping my hair would turn out the way I planned it to. Pulling, teasing, and braiding my hair, it seemed like everything was going smoothly. Was I wrong in so many ways. She rotated the chair so I could face the mirror. My eyes widened and my face got tense. I starred at the so-to-be-done-hair. It looked like something I would be able to put together in 5 minutes when I was in 6th grade, not 40 minutes by a professional! “You like it?!” The dumb blonde said from behind me. The arguing began, then the manager got involved and as soon as I knew it I was headed straight back to Woodfield mall to get my make-up done. The plan was to rush and get my make-up done, and then rush back to the salon because by that time Onega would be there. I literally sprinted back into the mall into the MAC make-up store. I literally sprinted back into the mall into the MAC make-up store. I described my dress and shoes to them. But the only thing that they were focused on was the disaster on my head. I repeated myself and the process began. My eyes twitched as the soft brush ran across my eyelids. I held up the mirror as they did their final touched on my face. Pink, orange, and black covered my eyes. Blush was on my cheeks. Did they not hear me right, was my hair that big of a distraction? My dress is red, not a clown suit. My eyes filled with tears and dripped down my face. Minutes later so did the orange and pink. My mind started rushing back to freshman homecoming. It was like dejavu. I sat in the salon chair waiting to be turned around. My first dance was that night and I was so thrilled. I turned to look in the mirror when my hair was completed and hated it. But as a freshman I didn’t have the guts to say anything. “I love it, it is just what I wanted! Thanks so much!” I lied, I hated it. When I got home I ran to the tub and soaked my hair with water hoping I could make it better and re-style it. I did and I ended up loving the outcome, excited to go to pictures. As the tears rushed down my face, I thought about doing the same thing as I did freshman year, but the time just wasn’t there. I was stressing out as my phone kept vibrating as my whole prom group was texting me as they were all headed over to pictures. I wasn’t even close to being ready. After impatiently waiting for 20 minutes, the MAC girl finished my make-up and this time it looked beautiful. Surprised something went right, I was relieved and a smile struck my face. But not for long, I started to dread the fact that I had to go back and deal with the “nest” on top of my head. I played my favorite songs on the way back to the salon which made me realize that everything will work out. I was at the stoplight right before the salon and the chorus came on to the up-beat song that was playing. I started dancing in my seat, I glanced over to my left and the guy in the black convertible Mercedes was watching me make a foul out of myself already pretending I was at the dance. At the point I was happy so it didn’t matter to me as I continued to dance while finding a parking spot.
An hour later my hair was done and it looked perfect, my dress was on and hugged every curve of my body. My make-up was shadowed with golds and blacks with tints of red in the corners. I never could of even began to imagine when all this preparation was going to be over with. Heading over to pictures minutes late was okay. I normally would have been stressing out not comparing to like how I was earlier. But some things you just need to deal with. Everything happens for a reason and as I pulled up to pictures another couple was missing as well. I left the car with a smile as my date opened my door. Now the fun begins and I couldn’t have been more excited to bust out my moves that I was previously doing in my car.

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