In the time that I’ve been divorced, I can easily say that there’s only be one man who I’ve been truly crazy about. He was a hairdresser. A straight hairdresser.
As I visualized a life time of amazing sex and free blow-dries, he looked me right in the eyes, said “I’m not going anywhere,” then proceeded to fall off the face of my earth.
Years later he resurfaced, I believe out of fear (he does my mother’s hair and she’s a good tipper). He wanted to know if I’d take his daughter’s photographs. While he offered to pay me, I suggested we do it as a trade. A girl can never have too many good blow-dries, I tell myself, knowing I really just want to see him again.
I schedule the shoot, and an appointment for Botox, then book my blow-dry. As I walk into the salon, It becomes clear that I haven’t thought this through. While I had considered blow-drying my hair to go in for my blow-dry, I’m sure he’d know, so I’m walking in with bad hair. If that’s not enough, he’s running late, so he has his assistant put a conditioner on my hair. She finishes, puts a plastic bag on my head, then choses the one hair dryer that’s in his eye line. I busy myself with a magazine trying to act unaffected, but I can’t see anything I’m reading because I refuse to put on my reading glasses. Migraine ensuing from squinting, I break, and quickly put them on to get a sense of what’s on the page, when I hear his voice. I look up, glasses on, and see him standing in front of me. “Glasses.” He says. “Yes.” I smile and quickly take them off.
I try for my best angle as he begins to blow out my impossible hair. The part he hasn’t gotten to yet morphs into an instant frizz ball, and there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it. I try for a confidence that even Heidi Klum wouldn’t have in this moment. But it falters as he begins to tell me about the woman he’s dating, and how she’s changed him. He reminisces about how, in other relationships, he used to have one foot out the door, but how there’s just something about her that has made him want to really commit, with all of his heart, 100%. And I am sure it’s because she doesn’t have a single strand of frizzy hair.
I vow to take the money next time instead of offering a trade, put on my glasses, and open my magazine.