Sometimes things don’t go as planned – and those moments often make for the best stories. Tripping columns offer readers a chance to share their wild adventures from the road.
I sat down beside my husband at the roulette table and watched the little white ball skip around the wheel.
“Twenty-nine, black,” the croupier called, and scooped a mass of chips off the betting area before paying the lone winner who was not, as it turned out, the man I had married.
This was good.
I had just come from a hair appointment at the MGM Grand hotel’s beautiful Las Vegas spa and I had spent a shocking amount of money.
Seeing my husband lose at the roulette table helped even the odds.
The salon had been a gorgeous temple to womanly indulgence and I had indulged.
The cost of a cut and colour would be a little more than I was used to spending but I was on holiday. My husband was gambling. I deserved a treat.
I was met at the door of the salon by a cheerful young lady who offered me a glass of Champagne. “Yes please!” I said. I sank down, practically purring, into a leather love seat and relaxed into the luxury of knowing no one needed my attention for the next few hours. I was free!
At the colour station I enjoyed a detailed discussion about how nice the highlights would be and before long I was ensconced in a chair with a whack of tinfoil papers on my head, a trashy magazine on my lap and a second glass of Champagne in my hand.
Sharon, the senior stylist, came by for a detailed conversation about my cut. How short? Did I want layers? Bangs? What else would make my dreams come true?
“I don’t suppose you’d like an ultra conditioning thermal treatment,” she asked. “Your hair is awfully dry.”
I thought for a moment. It was true. My hair was always dry. And I was on holiday.
After the treatment another young lady came along and asked if I wanted a scalp massage. I leapt at the offer and spent half an hour melting into what seemed like an alternate reality.
Sharon returned and gave me the best hair cut I had ever experienced. She made a few recommendations for hair products and offered to set them aside at the cash for me. I felt pampered and downright gorgeous when it came time to pay the bill.
“That will be $675,” the cashier said. “How much did you say?” That number couldn’t be right.
“Six hundred and seven-five dollars,” the sweet young thing repeated. “Plus tips, if you’d like to leave them.”
The room began to swirl around me.
“Um, could I please see an itemized accounting of the bill?” I asked quietly.
The bill appeared. Who knew a small glass of champagne could become a $40 item on a hair-care bill?
“I’ll put it on the room, please,” I said with as much authority as I could muster.
I walked out of the salon quietly carrying my bag of indecently expensive hair-care. My husband would most definitely not understand the need for a $700 haircut. Frankly, neither did I.
“How much did it cost,” he asked carefully.
“More than I thought,” I answered. “How much have you lost today?”
He looked directly into my eyes and we stared at each other, waiting for someone to blink.
“Would you like a drink?” he asked, finally.
“Oh yes please,” I said as nonchalantly as I could. We would both have to come clean eventually. For the moment, I just needed to breathe.
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