In which I take a whole day and totally girl out with myself.

Sunday I gave myself a pedicure. And a manicure, too. I painted all 20 of my nails frosty pink while sitting on the front porch in the breeze and sun, drinking a beer and talking with Bghead and Truck and AmmZon as they came and went. Bindu slept under the porch swing, her legs squaring off her cute little stocky body, black pointy bat-ears flicking lazily.

Later, I dyed my hair with the second of the three boxes she sent me last winter. I walked around the house smelling of chemicals with my hair ‘piled loosely’ atop my head per the instructions, waiting for 35 minutes to pass. Truck and Bghead were playing darts in the front room — Truck had been hanging the dart board as I’d put dye in my hair — and saying things like, “Okay, motherfucker, let’s make this a bettin’ game!”

AmmZon said, “I would have done that for you, you know,” indicating my dripping head and pointing out that I had a big glob of dye on the back of my neck. I wiped the dye off with toilet paper and thanked her for the offer. I thought I’d actually gotten pretty even coverage, though, for applying it myself, even if I did have dye all over my neck and shoulders.

In the kitchen Truck said, “I don’t think women should dye their hair. I think they should make it look like they’re dyeing it and go out like that, because you look hot.”

“Yeah, you love the smell, right?” I said, putting a pinch of salt into my drink.

“Actually, not at all,” he replied. “It reminds me of when I dyed my own hair. Ick.”

When my 35 minutes had passed, I stepped into the shower and rinsed and conditioned. I love the conditioner that comes with hair color, I truly do.

I don’t think I’ve ever spent that much time on personal beauty in one day in my whole life.