So I'm here at the hairdresser's, waiting the requisite 30 minutes that the hair color needs to accomplish its mission. Yes, I assist my hair in retaining the hue it originally came with, as a few too many of the pigment-producing cells have abandoned their genetic assignment. Ageism is alive and well in the job-search universe, and I don't need to appear any older than I actually am.
Anyway, this is the most aggravating part of the whole process. Why? Because if you itch anywhere in the treated area, you can't scratch it, not unless you like having a brunette fingertip.
One of these appointments, I'm going to remember to carry either a toothpick, or some other thing I can safely apply to the random itches that crop up as I sit with semi-wet hair for half-an-hour.