If you’re looking for a peaceful, curated, "aesthetic" spa experience where everything goes perfectly... run. Run far away from my salon. Because today, the universe chose violence, and I’m just lucky I still have my eyebrows. Welcome to my Friday the 13th. It’s been a wild ride, and I’m pretty sure I only remember about 40% of it.
The Salon Chronicles
My first client brought me Valentine’s flowers (bless her soul!), but it got so hot in my room I was genuinely worried I’d murdered the beauty before I could even get them into a vase. Note to self: Keep a "Vase of Appreciation" at work because apparently, I’m popular like that. Later, I was running behind because sometimes you just have to shoot the shit and catch up, you know? I almost forgot my laundry in the dryer at work—which would have been a disaster for everyone else needing to use it. I didn’t break anything today and the music actually stayed on, but I did accidentally temporarily blind a client. She was all relaxed, floating in spa heaven, and I—in my infinite wisdom—flipped on the giant overhead light. Surprise! Welcome back to reality. If you can handle a little accidental temporary blindness, I’m your girl.
The "Mom Brain" Tax
I got home, trying to be a productive human while on the phone with a friend, and saw my son’s CCD card on the counter. My brain went: "Oh, that’s the expired one. Trash it." SNIP. As the pieces hit the bin, the realization hit my soul. It was the new one. Why was it on the counter and not in his wallet? Autism brain meets Squirrel brain. Now I’m ordering a replacement while questioning my life choices. Mom should know to double-check, but hey—shit happens.
The Technology Betrayal
Last night, my phone decided to identify as a brick. My whole phone glitched out, and it took a 2.5-hour factory reset to get it breathing again. We are currently "getting to know each other" again, and I’m still trying to get comfortable with it. Me and technology? We are not friends right now.
The Great Chicken Caper (The Finale)
The grand finale? A supply run with my girl that turned into a mental scavenger hunt. We hit the beauty supply house, and I spent twenty minutes walking in circles like a Sim with a glitch, trying to remember what I needed besides head bags. Just as we’re checking out, it finally clicks: TWEEZERS. Fricking tweezers. Get your shit together, Lynette! Then, we head to Sam’s Club. We’re being responsible adults, getting food for my kid and restocking the water we’d run out of. And, of course, the stars of the show: a rotisserie chicken and a pack of croissants for dinner. We get back to my place, she pops the trunk, and SMASH. Out goes one of my boxes. Let the record show: this isn't the first time, and at this rate, it won't be the last. One of these days, I’ll learn how to pack a trunk, but today was not that day. We get the wagon loaded, haul everything all the way up to our floor, and then the realization hits me like a ton of bricks: THE CHICKEN. I had "hidden" the rotisserie chicken and those croissants under the stroller so they wouldn't slide around. I’m standing there in the hallway with five million thoughts racing through my head about how bad that van is going to smell if that chicken spends the night in there. The call finally goes through—it felt like forever, but she was only a block away. She’s laughing and teasing me because, let's face it, weird shit always happens to me. She told me she was keeping it so her car wouldn't stink, but because she's a real one, she turned that van around and brought the chicken back so my son and I could actually eat dinner.
The Verdict:
Everything is put away. The bedding is (finally) in the wash. I haven’t broken any bones, the music stayed on, and I’m still standing.
Life is messy, loud, and half the time I’m lucky if I check a client out correctly on the first try—but man, it’s a beautiful ride. Happy Friday the 13th, everyone. Stay blessed, stay chaotic, and always check under the stroller for your dinner.
