Which is what my mom does tomorrow morning bright and early. Back when she was working, she went to the beauty salon on Saturday morning to have her hair professionally washed, set, combed out and glued down with hairspray, and she carefully wrapped her hairdo in toilet tissue, putting a hairnet on it each night at bedtime and then slept on a satin pillow every night so the hairdo would last her all week. Now she goes on Friday morning bright and early. She’s been doing this for probably 60 years. She used to wash and set her own hair, but at some point — I think when she started working as our church secretary and there was a beauty salon just a block away where she could go get her hair done over her lunch break — she started having it professionally done. She could easily justify the expense as part of presenting a professional appearance at work, especially when she started working for the law firm and was “her” attorney’s receptionist as well as secretary. My mom is very fastidious about her personal appearance to begin with, and having her hair professionally done is an important thing to her. My dad has always understood this and has never begrudged her the money. (She holds the purse strings anyway and always has, which is why they retired quite comfortably and were able to pay off their mortgage before either of them retired. — Unfortunately, I take after my dad. I don’t have any will power either. If I’ve got it, I spend it!) My dad was the one who started the “beauty saloon” business. He would tease her by telling her when she went to the beauty saloon to tell her beauty operator to give her “a double shot.” Of course, nowadays, they’re “hair stylists,” but back when she started going to them, they were “beauty operators.”
I’ll have to be there at 7:30 a.m. so she can make her 8 a.m. appointment. While she’s out, she’ll run some errands and shop groceries. On my way home, I’ll stop by and get my car license tag. We used to get a new license plate every year, then we kept the same plate but we got a sticker that we stuck on it for each year. Now we keep the same plate but get a new sticker each year that we stick on the windshield/windscreen. What we are actually paying is not a tax on the car, but the bridge and road use tax. It all goes into a fund that the city/county/state uses to build and maintain bridges and roads. We don’t have all that many bridges around here, unless you count overpasses/flyovers.
I’ve gotten an idea now of what my bills are going to be like living here. I might be able to get by without having to work all that much for that jive transcription outfit in SF.
I’ve had my bath and washed my hair, which is nearly dry now, and I’ve left the Band-Aid off my wrist to let it air. I’ll put it back on when I go out later. The wound is still clean and dry. Stitches come out Monday.
Next week, I’d best be fixing the pegboard for around my computer area so I can set up my foot pedal and start working again. (Baby needs a metal filing cabinet, among other things.) Also, it behooves me to put my books in order and sort out the goddess statues. I need to be making that last little push to finish up the moving in and getting settled process. Get the boxes out of my trunk, finish sorting out my yarn and putting it into the plastic bins, and get rid of the last of the boxes in my office. I reckon that’s about a week’s work of work, give or take.