I have never really indulged in spontaneity. Some have described me as more of a demure woman who sticks to the status quo. However, something changed in me this year. There is this braveness that I discovered deep within that allowed me to take risks unnatural to my introverted state of being. One such example refers to the ever-changing hue of my hair. Right before I embarked on the journey that has been the spring semester, I added a pop of color to my dull locks. I walked out of the hair salon a new and improved Alex with the taste of the rainbow staining the ends of my hair. I loved it, and it seemed that others loved it, as well. In last week’s blog, I discussed my old soul and grandma-like tendencies and characteristics. Therefore, this next little tidbit only solidifies my findings and proves that I am in fact a grandmother at heart.

When I returned to my retail job after dyeing my hair, I was greeted by “the look.” This look refers to the calculated eyebrow raise of the unapproving general public at my choice of color. I could already feel the judgment oozing out of them, and I could care less. I was confident in my appearance, and frankly, enjoyed the edgy juxtaposition of a future high school English teacher rocking a nose ring and rainbow hair. I wasn’t looking for verification of my choices; I really wasn’t looking for any reaction at all. However, one reaction still steals my heart and vote for the best compliment I’ve ever received.

In my temporary line of work, most of my coworkers are significantly older than me. You would think that I would not necessarily have a lot in common with this gaggle of oldsters because of the age gap, but then you would surely be mistaken. I have more in common with the 60-year-old woman rocking New Balance and an appalling shade of red lipstick than the women my age hitting the club scene every weekend. I guess you could say that I gravitate to the educated and wise women of yesteryear who have the most interesting stories to tell, because I like to think of myself as a storyteller. I enjoy listening to women talk about the good old days, and that is why the compliment I received is the best in my short book of compliments.

The compliment came from a quaint woman of about 80 with perfectly curled white hair. I walked into the establishment, and I was greeted by this woman. She hobbled over to me, leaving behind an inquiring customer, and made a scene in a way that only a grandmother knows. She took one look at the frizz that was once a supple curl, made me do a 360, and told me that my hair was the best she’s ever seen. Then she proceeded to tell everyone she encountered that day about my hair. Apparently, she has witnessed many a woman attempting to rock colorful hair, and none have pulled off the color well. Let me just say, that I had absolutely nothing to do with the dyeing process; my hairdresser is a genius and made my hair look better than the picture I showed her for reference.

Now, you attentive readers may be confused as to why this is the best compliment I’ve ever received. My friends, this is the best compliment because every time I go to work and encounter this coworker, she goes through the same spiel. She makes me do a 360 and tells everyone that day about the girl with the colorful hair. Since the first time, I have changed the color from a vibrant rainbow to a muted grayish blue, which I also love, and she still goes through the established routine.

Just a few days ago, I had walked into the restroom, and not even a second later, I hear the iconic shuffle of my coworker. She entered the stall to my left and proceeded with a hair specific line of questioning not ideal for the bathroom setting. Literally mid-stream and ready for answers, this woman just starts throwing out questions and compliments like there’s no tomorrow. It was an awkward situation, yet, I still found it endearing that she’s so interested in the state of my hair. She’s so interested that she’s willing to ask those hard-hitting questions while on the porcelain throne. I give her the utmost props and respect for her daring quest to stay informed and educated on the state of a young woman’s expensive taste in hair color.

I will never forget her insistence to stay in-the-know with today’s hair trends. She’s a spunky woman, and the fact that most of my hair compliments come from women closer to her in age, I’d like to think of myself as a spunky woman. I hope to one day be as bold and excited as her about something as trivial as hair color. But for now, I’ll stick to writing about these situations because then they can serve as the perfect evidence of foreshadowing when in 50 years my grandchildren are complaining about the scenes I cause in public. I don’t think any amount of coffee will deter the fate that I’ve inscribed on the internet, but you all know I’ll keep trying.