I have a short story for you this morning, about why I am blonder than usual.

My hairdresser and I go back over a decade. I call her my hair therapist. I let her do whatever she wants, so long as she keeps my long enough to ponytail for running and swimming, because I go to her for the talk therapy.

She's decided to do a little color on my hair for the last several years. One of the things she does is to add blond highlights. It makes her happy, and she makes me happy.

On Thursday, I went for my usual (with both of us masked as usual). The governor now allows her to take a second client while my color sets, so she did her foil stuff and stuck me under the drier in a closed room, per pandemic protocol.

I thought she was taking longer than usual to return, but whatever. When she did return, she was teary and told me she had just cut the hair of a client who has been in an abusive relationship, and who she had tried to talk into leaving the abuser.

The other client was finally leaving the abuser. She had a lawyer now, and she was headed to a domestic violence shelter. She was just coming to tell our mutual hair therapist, while getting her hair cut.

So of course it took longer than usual for our hair therapist to support her and assure her and praise her for taking the big step. So my highlights went really blond in the meantime.

"OMG," she said, looking under the foils, "I might have to tone it." She told me what happened. And I thought I should be very blonde to honor them both. So I told her "Oh, stop, you're wonderful to do that for this woman."

She said to me, "Sometimes my job is very empowering! Does that sound silly?" And I said, "No, it sounds exactly right to me."

And she took me to the sink and washed it out. And now, when I look in the mirror, I think of strong women. And it makes me happy.