The Lead Up Part III - The Fug

My wedding posts would not be complete without an explanation for my horrendous hair-do which I will now and forevermore refer to as "The Fug'. I hope to be able to post some pictures soon and I wouldn't want you to get the impression that I thought my hair looked good. Then you would be laughing at me instead of with me and I can't have that.

The fault for the fug lies solely with Kevin. He casually suggested that I go to a salon on the day of the wedding to have my hair and makeup done. Sounded like a great idea at the time. I followed his advice and it led down a path of horror.

As previously noted, I rushed around all morning trying to find a dress. The wedding wasn't until 6 PM but the latest salon appointment I could get was at 12:30PM. I thought that would give me plenty of time to get my hair and makeup done and still run by the nail place before I had to be home to meet the school bus. (You know you are a mommy-bride if 'meet the school bus' is part of your wedding day preparation.)

I arrived at the salon right on time. The stylist (I've forgotten her name. Not sure if I ever knew it.) took me back to discuss what kind of style I would like. I actually brought a picture. I never do that. But I thought this one time it would be ok since I would be looking at this hairdo in pictures for the rest of my frackin life. The stylist looked at the picture, said "No problem" and went right to work. She used a curling iron for what seemed like the better part of a decade. My chair was turned facing away from the mirror and she talked nonstop while working. After the stress of the preceding days, I was actually starting to relax a little bit.

Then she spun the chair toward the mirror and I choked back a scream as I faced my reflection. How could those hundreds of tiny corkscrew curls that she had so painstakingly created have come together to form this this old lady - no hair -bun? It was hideous and bore not even a passing resemblance to the picture. The funniest thing (if anything about this could be funny) was that the stylist was really proud of it. She ushered me into the makeup chair where she did manage to do a decent job. My face was awfully shiny but that little detail was completely overshadowed by the goofy hairdo which made my face look like a giant Moon Pie.

Did I mention that this whole thing took so long that the school bus beat me home. I ran in the house and my three beloved children just stared at me. My own kids wouldn't even lie to me when I needed it most. I sent them out to the van and we headed for the nail place. In general, having a formal hairstyle while wearing street clothes can make you feel conspicuous but working the fug in t-shirt and shorts took me to a new level of embarassment (which, for me, is saying a lot.)

I collapsed into the nail chair and asked for a full-set. I'd never been to this particular salon before. The manicurist went to work and even got the girls settled in to get their own nails painted. She worked quickly and quietly and I'm pretty sure she could tell I was on the verge of unravelling. At one point, she looked at me and said very quietly "You look pretty" and then went right back to work. I knew she was lying but I didn't care. Sometimes you need a compliment.

After all my foolishness leading up to the wedding, the actual event could not have gone better. It was all that I hoped it would be. And if I could do it all over agin, I wouldn't change a thing...except the fug.