The Salon
Filed Under Uncategorized |
Here’s a random example of why you should never say things you don’t really want repeated, even to people you are pretty sure won’t repeat them. This is the situation. I’m at Wane’s Salon in Irving where my good buddy, Natalie, is working her color and trim magic for my upcoming date with Bono and I’m sitting in her chair reading a book. Under normal circumstances, this (book reading) would never happen because Natalie likes to talk and she’s usually got some pretty interesting stories, therefore, I’m prone to listen.
Today, however, we are under the gun.
She sandwiched me in between shuffling others around (see what miracles happen when you tell your stylist “I can wait to see you, no prob. I’ll just run up to Sally’s and buy color in a bottle, do a little touch-up at home.” Apparently that’s the beautician’s kryptonite) and she tells me to please read my book so that she’s not tempted to talk.
I oblige by shoving my nose into the center of “The Opposite of Love.”
I read while casually checking out the people around me. I’m curious to see who’s going bold and who’s playing it safe. You know how women can check people out without anyone knowing their checking someone out. I’ve mastered this. My eyes skim to Drew, another stylist in the salon (who ironically enough isn’t gay), past him…wait…rewind.
I raise my book to shield my face. “Hey Nat, did Drew color his hair?” He’s dark today and I’m sure the last time I checked him out, he was blonde.
“I don’t know. Either he did or he cut off the bleached ends,” she says.
Soooo, Drew’s not a natural blonde. Interesting. I wonder…nah, guys don’t do that.
“Hey Nat, has he always had a beard?” I’m certain he hasn’t because I usually don’t pay attention to guys with facial hair (sexy scruff is the exception).
“Yeah, he’s had that for a while, but it probably wasn’t as thick last time you were in.”
“He’s looking a bit Unabomberish today,” I add and I go back to reading.
A few seconds later Natalie nearly doubles over in laughter and wipes at tears with the back of her color stained hands. “Hey Drew,” she yells across the salon and her voice cracks on her laughter at the end. “I’ve got something to tell you.”
I pull my book closer to my face, terror stricken now. ”Natalie, what tha…don’t tell him-”
“Oh he’s gonna love this,” she says to me then repeats every word I just said. Very loudly.
Of course he laughs and makes self deprecating jokes and I’m feeling all bad so they don’t help me feel better. I have to join in on the yell fest so that he thinks…well, I don’t know, maybe so he doesn’t feel bad. “Drew, I think you’re adorable (and he is in that unassuming guy next door kind of way) and the fact that I noticed the hair and the beard means I’ve totally checked you out on more than one occasion.” Because, well, I have. I could’ve inserted a wink here, but that would have just been too over the top. So I grin and go back to reading about Carl and Emily and blatant sexual harassment in a sleazy hotel room in Arkadelphia.
Did I save face? I don’t know. Probably. After his client left, Drew came over to my chair and said, “I had this really great joke about delivering a package, but then I thought about “package” and realized maybe it’s not such a good joke.”
Where did my eyes go just before he turned his back to me?
He shoots, he scores.
Comments
2 Comments so far
I Love this post!! This, my dear, is why you should blog more often. I didn’t even realize you had anything new, and then I read this. Tears. Rolling down my cheek.
Please blog more. Please.
?? ????? ?????? ?? ?? ?????. ???? ??? ????????. ?????? ??? ? PM, ??????????….
???????? This is the situation…..