Hair, shoulders, knees and pain

Wednesday Christmas is coming early. I am Glamorama bound, a salon that can cure my critical hair-care woes. The past month has been an epic struggle between my hair and I: Me-0, My Hair-4. After the pink highlights came the Walgreen's brown box. Then the Extreme Styles bummer blue black dye experience, 77 dollars later. Add the 12 for the highlights and another 10 for the brown we are at 99 bucks of badness. Then my mother and I went to South Hadley on a whim where for another 20 the sweet 24 year old single mom gave me a gay Peanuts haircut. "Yes, sir. Chuck is the dreamiest, sir."
Now I put it in a tiny pony tail and gather bobby pins from my bathroom and bedroom floors willing it all to either grow or for everyone to go blind.
I am achey and unclear as to why. Saturday was the Green River Festival, something that 23 years ago was simply called the Hot Air Balloon Fest and only cost 7 dollars. Now it is 45 dollars for one day and 8,500 people came. Our booth, the Hope and Olive one, was constantly busy with customers. The generators and music was deafening and my voice was almost hoarse from shouting out the orders in my best old-timey bellow. My only complaint is directed at the parents who insisted their tiny child order for themselves.
"OK! I can help whoever is next!" Music blaring, generators rumbling.
Parent ushers wee little to the counter. "Ok Jimmy, tell the nice lady what you want."
"psshapssha pinta poopaa?"
"I'm sorry, what was that?"
"uuuhh, kakawhawhatootoolalalasha?"
I turn to parent apologetically, "One more time?"
"He wants a hot dog."
"One Hot Dog!" I scream to the back, hearing the tiny call and response back. "Next!" Repeat.
Or the people who have been waiting in line the longest only to notice the (very limited) menu when it is their turn.

And now today, two days later, my shoulders still ache and no amount of Tiger Balm or hot showers can resolve their dull throbbing.