I take my hair color very seriously, which is not something inherited. I’m not sure where I got the wild idea to change with the seasons each year and sport blonde in the summer, browns or coppers in the fall, full blood-red in the winter and then gradually back to blonde in time for the warmer temps. What I do know, is that my mother’s two feet of thin, straight hair has never seen a salon, much less been colored. I used to beg to be her “stylist,” even through high school and college, occasionally cutting a couple of inches of dead ends, giving her a scalp rub, or my favorite—weaving her long locks into two fine braids to hang down her back.

This week I realized that I was in dire need of a stylist, which normally doesn’t happen, as I’ve had a standing appointment every five weeks with my friend/stylist in Texas. I’ll gladly eat leftovers, pack my lunch, and shop at Plato’s Closet or Target clearance, so long as there are funds for my almost monthly hair color. The dilemma in Atlanta is that, well, who wants to pay downtown prices, especially when there’s no “teacher discount” or friend hook up? And, at the risk of sounding really superficial, finding a new colorist is cause for significant anxiety. If I had to choose between a great doctor or reliable colorist, I’d choose the colorist every time (and then self-medicate). This is serious business. Needless to say, I postponed the inevitable, in lieu of sun bleaching at the pool, until this week when I had to face hair reality. After a conversation with friends about supporting local business, I booked my color at “Relish,” my neighborhood salon, just diagonal from our town house and prayed I didn’t get the newbie. And, as usual, my anxiety was for naught, as this morning’s scalp rub with rosemary and lavender and nearly perfect blend of caramel and honey blonde highlights was a pretty incredible start to my day–and even a fraction of the cost I was expecting. Maybe I got a jam discount, as I was quick to swap recipes with Erin, my new colorist, and promised to bring some by this afternoon before I go to the farmer’s market to partake in the peach festivities. Regardless, all is right with the world again. As for my mom? She just doesn’t know what she’s missing. She’d be stunning as the grandma with violet-red hair.