Fleetingly Carol

A very dear friend from childhood came to visit last week. We had not seen each other in several years, although we kept in touch via email and social networks. When she called to say she would be in town, I looked forward to a delightful time reminiscing about old friends, teachers - oh, and old boyfriends we stole from one another.         When we met at the restaurant, I almost didn't recognize her. Her once-cinnamon colored tresses were every color of blond imaginable. And her deep brown eyes had become a strange color of green.          "How do you like my new look?" she beamed.          "Um, wonderful . . . um, beautiful . . . um, why?" I couldn't think of anything else to say.          "Oh, you know."          Oh, I do? I have the same mousey blond hair I was born with.          "We're getting to that age, you know. Where the grays are popping out. Anyway, I always wanted to find out if blonds really did have more fun."

Natural, medium, neutral, brown In spite of brown ears and scalp, in spite of Old Man really wanting to mow the lawn in 100+ degree weather rather than help me color my hair, the color, as you can see turned out fairly well. Now, dear Reader, I know that's a blurry picture, but I just need you to get this color fixed in your head. It is, as it says on the box "natural, medium, neutral, brown". Honest. That was the name of the color on the box. And, that is the color you see on the left. Girlie-Girl Can you picture this on Girlie-girl? Yes, that was our surprise! Wherever you find me, you will find my sweet little puppy, Girlie-Girl. You've read about her right her on the Fleetingly Carol blog. She's my froo-froo dog that isn't really. It's a rule that froo-froo dogs must be under 10 pounds and Girlie-Girl weighs in at a hefty 10 1/2 pounds. I'll put her on a diet when she reaches 11 pounds, so her poor belly won't scrape the ground.   Girlie

Dear Reader, Who among you remembers "Only her hairdresser knows for sure"? If you do, raise your hand. Aha! You have just aged yourself! Well, dear Reader, that's perfectly alright, because I just admitted my age as well. When that commercial came out on television, our family had only 2 channels from which to choose. We children were our parents remote control. When Dad said, "Carol, turn the TV over," he did not mean to flip the television on its head. He meant to change the channel to the only other station we had. Well, enough about how old I am. I believe I've just established that I'm old enough to be going gray, but not old enough to look good at being gray, hence, 'only my hairdresser knows for sure'. I'm just a little gray around the temples.That's my story and I'm sticking to it. My hairdresser died with the dinosaurs and no one has seen my natural hair color since Women's Suffrage. In these tough economic times,