This morning, I had a haircut appointment with a new stylist. In my opinion, finding a good hairstylist is as hard, perhaps more so, as discovering a great bra or feeling you look terrific in your bathing suit. I am ever-hopeful of meeting the next Eddie, my genius, preposterously affable hair-cutter in Boston; twice since we moved, I've scheduled appointments with Eddie during visits back. That's how seriously thankful I am for a good do.
In D.C., I've hobbled grudgingly from one maybe-we-can-date kinda stylist to the next. There was the tall, thin, Latin Flamenco-type in Virginia; the Scottish gal in Georgetown who I liked quite a bit but who always ran at least an hour behind, and really I just don't have that amount of free time and if I did I wouldn't want to spend it in a salon foyer suffering from a slight air of pretension; most recently I've entrusted my locks to the skilled but surly Vietnamese woman in Bethesda. She is one of those negative black holes that you just want to tear yourself away from lest you get Dementored by her gloom. But on the flip side, she could cut my hair, though I always hated it on the first day which is kind of de rigueur with many trims.
Whatever is a girl to do?!
Today I ventured to M Studio in Bethesda for an appointment with Michael. One of my dear friends, L, who always looks gorgeous, sees him, and really, the promise of any sort of copy of her hair was enough for me. People, it was a delight, and I left feeling updated and chic. Also, I laughed a lot, bought some products, was then inspired to come home and throw out all of my decades-old products that I never did know how to use, and I look forward to a return. Sayonara, surly lady. Welcome to my life, M!
This is epic. I won't have to count the years until my next visit to Eddie.
After my return, I flitted about my kitchen, stroking my smooth hair and working on the sour cherry jam. I did add the black pepper and a bit of super-aged Balsamic, and this is a complete gem of a jam. I will post the recipe for you soon! This would be killer on some goat cheese or Brie, a bagel smeared with cream cheese, atop a cheesecake (catch the underlying theme here?).... Mamma mia!
Then a walk with Percy because I needed some bacon to make the black beans the kids have been wanting and Wagshal's sells this great Amish bacon that cannot be beat. On said walk, I leaned over to scoop poop and my enormous, jute, "summer bag" slipped off my shoulder and onto a rogue bit of poop. Disgusting but it did not deflate me!
We got back home to start the beans, then to pick-up to get the boys, a random "field trip" to Target, success at Target, home to make the rice. I watched Jack swoon over his rice and beans and died a little bit when he said, "Mom, you are a better cook than a professional one." I had a glass of rosé, am trying to be zen about the ocean of markers and "confetti" (cut up paper for no reason at all) all over my floor, and am about to embark on bath- and bed-time. Whew!
