the dirty laundry show

Yesterday, I spent two hours and $250 re-blonding myself at my favorite hair salon. As I sat in the same chair I’ve graced for nearly 10 years, I tallied up some jaw-dropping totals.

Like $20,000. A (conservative) estimate of my hair care spending since the age of 13.

And 200. Another (likely low) estimate of the hours I’ve spent in chairs much like the one I sat in while doing my calculations.

Some might see these numbers and think, “Wow, what a colossal waste!” Many times, I’m right there with you. Oh, the home repairs I could have funded! The writing I could have accomplished!

Those folks don’t know the history that drives these digits. How could they?

You would’ve had to reside in or near Garland, Texas just before the turn of the millennium to witness the many attempts by 12-year-old me to lighten my own hair.

Nothing compared to the high of coming home with a fresh box of hair color that promised me bright wheat hues… and the equally weighty letdown of toweling off a head full of pumpkin orange locks.

I’ve experienced my fair share of hair don’ts, and those crisp memories hold me fast in a continuous logic loop that makes losing $250 and an entire morning feel like a steal.

And it isn’t the only weird logic afoot around here.

Last month, my family of four flew to Southern California to spend the holidays with my in-laws. It was our first Christmas there in 10 years, and it was made all the more magical by the fact that we financed our flights and rental car using credit card points.

Getting a rental car for a whole month for FREE made me feel like such a better human than the rest of you. So much so that when the desk attendant inquired whether I wanted to pay for liability insurance, I said no.

The consequences of that choice could’ve been disastrous! And with us flying up and down the 101 freeway (and beyond) for over 30 days?!

But free is free, dagnabbit, and I wasn’t about to accept anything else – even to my own detriment.

We humans are a strange bunch. There are times when our brand of “logic” isn’t logic at all, but a ludicrous attachment to a certain feeling or emotion. Our decisions might make perfect sense to us while everyone else is raising an eyebrow.

These are important aspects I try to remember whenever someone is irritating me by taking up two parking spaces or asking if they can bring their dog to my dinner party. I can barely tolerate my own dog.

We have to remember that someone else’s choices make sense to them. If we lived their experiences and inhabited the same logic loop, we likely would’ve arrived at the same conclusions.

This way, we can drum up some compassion and understanding even in the wildest circumstances. Like when the woman in the car next to you throws open her door right into yours as if it were a wrestling move.

You can smile and wave in bewilderment, knowing that you’ve had your own struggles with gravity and physics.

And there are plenty of people in the very same parking lot wondering how you could leave the house without pants.