Jen, the sweet young thing who cuts my hair had asked me what I was planning to do with my hair for the wedding. She looked pained at my response. "That was hurtful. You should let me blow it out," she said.
I trust Jen. Not only is she skilled and always stays in the delightful range of the perky spectrum, she has encouraged me to stop coloring my hair. I trust a hair stylist who doesn't succumb to cross-selling. She doesn't even try to sell me product, so I know she won't do anything goofy or so-not-moi with my hair.
Continuing the crowd-sourcing trend, I checked with several gal pals, all of whom voted to let Jen futz with my hair that morning.
Makes sense, but I'd have to show up at the salon around 9:30 AM, the liturgy begins at 2:00, and Jen says, "Don't run around getting all sweaty before the ceremony."
Maybe I could find a purple banana clip to go with my dress? Or, delegate the running around stuff.H/T: Nag on the Lake for the hysterical historical pic
