Hair and Eyes

If eyes are the windows to our soul, then my soul is out of focus.  Or my window is dirty, or whatever the appropriate and witty quip might be.  My last pair of contacts is quickly becoming less than optimal optical, and my glasses need an upgrade as well, though I have enjoyed their rimless pleasure for longer than a girl should.

And so, in a self-congratulatory frame of mind for taking advantage of the excellent health, dental, and vision benefits I get at work...because here in the good ol' U.S. of A. a person must plan ahead for possible being-hit-by-a-bus-and-all-the-hospital-bills-that-may-ensue contingencies...I get to have the old eyeballs checked this week for a modest co-pay.  At least that's where it starts.

Seeing (ah, I am witty, aren't I?) as how I make it a point only to visit doctors of any kind if there is a good reason, and there are a few good reasons one should visit a doctor...thinking of poor Schell and her commando-tick-gone-bad Lyme's Disease battle, and a friend's ongoing recovery from Shingles...I figure being able to see well and thusly ensure my ongoing composing of entertaining and informative blog entries ranks somewhere in the top 4 million reasons to see a doctor of some kind, no?

And so I was searching the VSP (Vision Service Provider) website for 'a doctor near you', or me, rather, when I came upon an address I recognized as being nearby.  So near is this place, in fact, that it is one of the brand new shops that opened up on the other side of the block where I work.  Well, hot damn, I declared.  I'll call them in the morning.  How convenient.  I already know where to park when I go...and knowing where to park is a big concern of mine in these Uptown/Downtown areas--call it a comfort thing--ok, call it a control-freak thing.

And what's even better is that I can go get my hair done at an actual nice spiffy place on the other side of that building after the eye exam...two birds, one stone, and all that sort of thing.  For the past several years I've worn my hair long and straight.  The long part is an alterable preference, the straight part is not.  No amount of curling iron action or gel will make this head o' hair hold curl unless it is shellac'd--is that even a word?--an enthusiastic ritual for which I refuse to take 3 hours to complete in the morning.  And yet I realize that long hair does not necessarily equate to pretty hair, though I like my hair just fine.  I am reluctant to get highlights, as I feel that highlights, however professionally applied, still look like highlights, and then you are stuck with having to go for touchups which, in the end, really just means I would be giving more money to continue a process that I didn't want in the first place.  

I am a wash'n'go sort of girl, with a blow dry thrown in there lately for good measure.  I like my hair long so that I can pull it back if I'm participating in some windy, dirty, or hot task which, believe you me, happens more often than you'd realize in a bookstore.  You didn't think I just sat in my office all day, gesturing to people with a half-full coffee travel mug in hand and quoting Shakespeare and Salman Rushdie while simultaneously composing THE email that will transform the bookselling world as we know it, did you? 

No, no, I need simplehair.  Simplehair and goodeyes will serve me just fine.  And so, when I visit 'a stylist' within the next couple of days, I shall drive him/her mad, as there is no styling to be done beyond bangs/no bangs (no bangs), and long layers/no layers (no preference). 

Because, after all, you were busy looking past my hair, gazing through my eyes, and into my soul.  And all the fancy hairstyles and expensive eyewear in the world cannot change what you may find there.