Wednesday, December 8, 2010

244. Keeping Up Appearances

So I am deeply deeply in love and in a committed relationship with someone very special, someone I have been seeing for over 15 years. His name is Lawrence. My sister has met him. My mom knows about him. My husband looks the other way whenever I mention his name.  Everyone approves of my long-term happiness with my gay hairdresser.

Then tragedy struck. I moved from California, the Land Of The Great Blondes, to Crazy Town, Land Of Brunette’s Not That Bad. I tried over and over and over to cheat on poor Lawrence, but I just couldn’t do it. My former (Gwyneth) tresses withered from neglect and turned an unfortunate mousy grayish-blonde with heavy roots and straggly split-ends.

Every opportunity I had to visit Lawrence oops I mean my family in California, I would try to sneak in a quickie with Lawrence (“For God’s sake Lawrence, we don’t have time for a cut or deep conditioning, just do a few highlights and get it over with!”). He was understanding, compassionate even. Every six months or so, he’d call my mom (who lived so close to his salon she could practically hear his pet poodle barking) and say, “Darling, how are you? Do you know if your beautiful daughter MOV will be in town soon, I’m sure she’d want to get together?” (Honestly, how can you not love a man like this?)

Alas, ticket prices to California skyrocketed (well, maybe they went up 3% or so). I could no longer afford to fly out on a whim just to see Lawrence my mom. And with Lawrence’s prices being equivalent to a car payment (a very nice car, think BMW), my hair sank to the bottom of the priority list (right after “buy new sled”).

I had no choice. I had to find someone new, someone local, who could work with yellow hair, someone who wouldn’t scoff and say, “That is just not a color found in nature” like my college boyfriend used to say (I dyed my hair copper penny red for him—talk about a color not found in nature). I asked around. I accosted complete strangers on the street (“Ilikeyourhairwhodoesit?”). Finally, I met a neighbor named Margaret who had the perfect-bouncy-blonde-Reese-Witherspoon vibe.

Margaret took one look at my weak excuse for a hair style and eagerly recommended her hairdresser with the same zeal that I recommend Lawrence. This could work.

After a long drive into the Big City, and a pocket full of crisp ATM-pressed Ben Franklins, I arrived at Salon Perfecta. The girls who worked there looked like they had just stepped off the catwalks of Milan. A petite attractive redhead named Jane introduced herself and politely took the magazine photos I had brought with me, as if she did not know who Gwyneth and Reese and Cameron were. She laughed a cute laugh and said with heavy sarcasm, “I can certainly do this color. After all, these movie stars are my clients.” Funny funny Jane. I knew we would get along because she had a wry sense of humor.

After I micromanaged her every highlight (“Uh, Jane? more tinfoil for the bangs, okay?”), she handed me the mirror. The salon was living up to its name. After I paid the front desk girl (more than the rent on my first apartment—for a year), I smiled and ran my fingers through my gorgeous white-blonde tresses. When I walked out the front door, a nice blonde lady was walking in at the same time and held it for me.

It was Reese Witherspoon.



  1. nu uh really?!?! Reese!? lol..

    p.s. by the way i'm a 21 year old college student stuck in the damn cold weather here in the east coast and i found ur blog ! I have really enjoyed my time procrastinating studying for finals & instead reading ur blog! :)

  2. keep reading! go back and read the ones from July and August, they are some of my best. Thank you!

    MOV :)
    ps--I was a world class procrastinator in college too

  3. I will keep reading them as I'm currently in the library not studying. .!!&sdfjdf!!! i love your blogs !

  4. getting back to 'car5139's' question....was it really RW who held the door for you?

  5. yes. and on my "are you famous" blog, it really was Jeff Bridges.



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