Three hours after I stepped into a beauty salon last weekend,
I walked out and looked at myself. I looked the same!
What?!
In all fairness, I am not one of those who spend long hours at the salon. I dread my trips to the salon. I equate them to prison, exile, whatever you may call it. And most of them happen because they must. I treat my sojourns to the parlour there with great trepidation. There is prep involved too. I pack for it! I wisely arm myself with an iPod or an iPad, or a book. Sometimes all three. You never know!
In all fairness, I am not one of those who spend long hours at the salon. I dread my trips to the salon. I equate them to prison, exile, whatever you may call it. And most of them happen because they must. I treat my sojourns to the parlour there with great trepidation. There is prep involved too. I pack for it! I wisely arm myself with an iPod or an iPad, or a book. Sometimes all three. You never know!
At the salon I ask for stuff to be done while other stuff is
being done. (If I can multi-task, why can’t multiple tasks be done
simultaneously on me?) Right?
Much rearranging of salon furniture happens and I usually get my way! Not that I was ever great at numbers but I calculate the time taken for a manicure with the time taken for a haircut with the time taken for a pedicure! Voila! 3-in-one didn’t ever have a better meaning. And it’s time well utilized (while of course I am on my iPod or tweeting to the world about important advances in analytics and retail!)
Much rearranging of salon furniture happens and I usually get my way! Not that I was ever great at numbers but I calculate the time taken for a manicure with the time taken for a haircut with the time taken for a pedicure! Voila! 3-in-one didn’t ever have a better meaning. And it’s time well utilized (while of course I am on my iPod or tweeting to the world about important advances in analytics and retail!)
So those three (long) hours last weekend were not exactly
agonizing. I multitasked with mails,
calls, much tweeting, and much reading up on what the www had to say about
various things like coffee to missing aircrafts and of course social media on
social media.
While diligent and enthusiastic attendants slaved away at my
nails and cuticles, split hairs over my split ends, and fussed over the
temperature of the water for my shampoo, I slowly unwound and relaxed. I closed
my eyes and enjoyed the warm water as my hair was shampooed. I stared long and
hard at myself in the mirror as my hair was being effortlessly blow dried. I
felt my stress waning away with a gentle foot massage. When finished my feet were
feeling squeaky clean, my hands feeling unfamiliarly soft and my hair looking
like… well… like I’d been to a salon!
And when I finally stepped out it was different!
And this whole beauty bit fell into place. It’s not about
looking beautiful. It’s not about beauty pageants. Not about a size zero. Not
about the choice of your wardrobe or your accessories. It’s how good you feel
inside. And I realized I felt different because I felt pampered, cleansed and squeaky
clean. And when I looked at it that way, I felt beautiful.
And with a broad smile on my face, I drove home!
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