Ah, but how you feel has so much to do with how you look. I've always known that my hair could go from wash and wear to wash and swear almost overnight. One day it's fine, and the next I look like a wild woman. Because my hair is so fine and thin, not every stylist knows what to do with it. I need a perm and a good cut. I don't want to fuss with it. I'm just not a fussy person. I have no intention of using a blow dryer or curlers. Curling iron? Nope.
We walked into the local Walmart here one day not long after moving in and I noticed the beauty salon inside the front door. I looked at John and said, "Come back in three hours. If I don't get my hair permed I'm going to just put a bag over my head." He went out to the car and listened to the HAM radio, being a nice guy, while I went up to the counter and said, "Help me."
It was my lucky day. The dark haired beauty who turned her smile on me was Ambrosia. She could cut hair. She could make me laugh. She was fun and she was good—very good. She gave me the best perm and cut of my life that day, but I think she did an even better job today. Yes, she's still there, and I won't go to anybody else. We talk and laugh, and her value as a friend has grown along with my trust of her as a stylist.
Every woman needs a little Ambrosia in her life. Wondering if she'd ever looked up her name in the dictionary, I decided to save her some time and did it for her. I liked what I found. According to what I read, her mother named her well. She is "something with an especially delicious flavor or fragrance," and could also be considered "a dessert containing a considerable amount of flaked coconut." I not only got my hair done today, I laughed until my cheeks hurt.
I love you, Ambrosia. Sitting in your chair lights up my day (and sure makes me look a whole lot better).