The Perfect Bun

Hobbs & Hayworth are back on Mom Cave TV with more shenanigans! Grab a coffee (or something stronger), kick back, and prepare to be amused.

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The Beehive.

I AM A VAIN PERSON. There, I said it.

It takes me a long time to get ready if I’m going out. I never leave home without at least minimal makeup on, and before I had kids I would literally lie in bed at night planning out what I was going to wear the next day. Apparently deep, intellectual thinking is not my forte.

Earlier this week, I was in the restroom chatting with one of the ladies from my Zumba class when she stopped mid-sentence and asked incredulously, “Are you putting on LIPSTICK?!”

Yes. Yes, I was. I was putting on lipstick, right before an exercise class, in an all-ladies gym. Vanity doesn’t have to make sense, people. Have you ever seen the women with the looooooong fake nails that have jewels glued to them? Does that make sense to you? How the hell do they take care of their basic needs with those talons in the way?

BUT WAIT. It doesn’t have to make sense. Because, vanity.

My hair has always been my pride and joy, despite the fact that it has the consistency of hay if I don’t beat it into submission on the daily and the natural blonde color has darkened to more of a gross dishwater brown with each pregnancy (I have also noticed a significant increase in silver strands, thank you motherhood). My hair is the one thing that has remained recognizable to me over the years. It didn’t get stretch marks or scars. It’s not starting to wrinkle, like my neck.

Knowing all of this, you can probably understand why it’s vital that only someone who is both sober and skilled be allowed to mess with my hair. I have tried coloring it myself, and we all know how that turned out (note: badly). I have tried to cut corners and save money by going to some cheap place or letting students do it.

Three years ago, I even had someone cut and color my hair who was in the active stages of drunkenness. I mean, I do live in the Deep South where day drinking is both encouraged and socially acceptable … but not when you’re holding a pair of scissors. I was too freaked out to figure out what to do, so I literally sat frozen with fear and prayed for a miracle.

My prayer was not answered.

My hair was ruined.

I went to The Beehive Salon in Baton Rouge, LA several days later because someone needed to fix everything that was wrong, and blessedly, no one there drinks on the job. Pam Panepinto, co-owner of the salon and hair extraordinaire, righted everything that was wrong that time, and every time since. I want to hug her every time I see her, both because I am so happy to be away from the never-ending laundry pile at my house, and because I know she’s going to turn me from haggard to hot in 2 hours flat.

Sometimes people will say, “Haggard? What haggard?! Roots?! What roots?! ” Mmm-hmm. I prepared for that by taking before and after pictures after my last visit to the salon. Let’s take a little trip down haggard-to-hot lane, shall we?

Do you still want to tell me that you don't see roots? I DIDN'T THINK SO.

Do you still want to tell me that you don’t see roots? I DIDN’T THINK SO.

20150211_095806IMG_20150211_10260120150211_113702Pretty impressive transformation, right?!

My vanity says yes.

Because they are so amazing, the people at The Beehive are offering all new clients who mention my blog a 20% off discount. You don’t even have to mention it nicely. You can say Modern Mommy Madness is a freaking lunatic and I want to punch her in the face, and they will still give you the discount. And you will leave looking hot.

Visit their website for a full menu of services, and be sure to tell me about your experience if you decide to go! Maybe we can be Eskimo sisters of hair.

This post is sponsored by The Beehive Salon. But even if they weren’t sponsoring it, I’d still tell you how awesome they are.