"You can touch, you can play!"

Shortly after the previous post, I decided to let my hair down. I took my scrunchy out walking through an empty corridor, then I stopped to bend over and finger comb it until it was big and loose. This is something I do seldom these days, and basically never at work; it gets too hot and it gets in the way. But I was facing the prospect of receiving an award for time served (a.k.a. a service award) and wanted to do something to make myself feel pretty.

I did not expect the reaction I got. I'd hardly seated myself and the woman behind me, our director of PR, was asking if she could braid my hair. She expressed surprise both at how long it was and how soft. I requested a reverse French braid, and she threw herself into the task. I didn't realise these existed until a picnic in Germany when one of the women along gave me one. Somewhere there is a picture of me posing side-by-side with my blond braid twin. The only other time I think anyone has done this to my hair is for my brother's wedding (I was best man so I had to look my best) and it looked great but needed like a dozen bobby pins to keep it in place. Not this time--with nothing more than a ponytailer, it held up well into the night. It was still tight when I undid this morning in order to shampoo.

Apparently, it was quite the show. I noticed several colleagues stealing glances with amusement. Then when I got home, I found that one of my buddies had taken a series of snaps with his phone and posted them to Facebook. The Grand Poobah (whose delightful gaffe was the other thing that made the ceremony worth attending) didn't say anything about it, but the head of Administrative Services, who gala this was, made a slightly strained comment as we were chatting afterwards. For the next event, I'm going to see if the PR director will braid me a crown. Maybe I should bring some fresh flowers for it, or a length of silk ribbon.