I get my hair colored at Waves Salon in downtown Albuquerque every three weeks or so. I do this so that I look good enough to keep the interest of my gorgeous 29-year-old boyfriend, among other reasons. I know. I’m shallow sometimes. Sue me. You know you’re shallow too. But just…LOOK at him. Okay? It’s worth the extra effort on my part. Which reminds me, I need to go to the gym. Like…RIGHT NOW. But I digress.
I often feel stupidly fantastic after my hair appointments, but lately I’ve been dreading going. I’m writing this post on my phone, from the salon chair. I was filled with anxiety about this appointment, this morning at home. I couldn’t figure out why I felt such crushing trepidation about coming here, at first. So I thought hard about it while I sucked down the free espresso in the stylish Italian cup, and realized what was bothering me: My stylist is just too fucking hot.
Actually, every female stylist at my salon is too fucking hot. ..just absolutely gorgeous. And tiny. And super fit. And fashionable. And young.
I hate it.
See, I come here to improve my OWN looks, spurred by my insatiable vanity. How can I get excited about my ostensible improvements if there is still no way in hell I will ever look as good as the shiny-tressed woman standing next to me in her skinny jeans and high heels? I mentioned this all to Rosalee, my stylist, just now. She laughed. Rosalee is bright, married to a doctor, funny, runs marathons. I can’t compete with her, and told her so.
“You all look like models, ” I griped. She looked embarassed.
“You wouldn’t want to get your teeth done by a dentist with gross teeth, would you?” she asked. This only made me aware of how much whiter Rosalee’s teeth are than mine. I shrugged. Then I smiled because now that my insecurity is out in the open I feel better.
I don’t look that bad…I mean, I look good….for me. Okay, let’s be honest. Rosalee made my hair look completely A-MAZING today. I look good. I admit it.
But, I will wait until I’m alone in the car to celebrate my new ‘do. Because until then I will feel like the love child of Cathy Bates and Rosie O’Donnell. Which is what I am. Compared to Rosalee, who just told me she’s in a competition at her gym to lose the most body fat in six weeks. She has no body fat to begin with.
I hate you, gravity. I hate you, ice cream. I…love Rosalee. I just wish she were not so hot. I think the perfect stylist would be cute, but not hotter than you. Maybe this is why so many women like gay male stylists….