Friday, August 22, 2008
Carol Brady is sexy, right?
You know that picture of me on the sidebar? Yes, down there on the left; the one that looks like I should be sitting down for a long chat about your table manners. I look a little stuffy, don’t you think?
I can’t help it! I’ve tried to explain to my hair stylists and the rest of the world that I’m not conservative and they don’t believe me. No matter what, I leave the place looking like a TWA stewardess from 1973. I’ve always wanted to be petite, dark, and ethnic. But, no matter how much leather and make-up I wear, I look like a giant piece of good ole’ American Apple Pie a la Irish.
A couple of years ago, I told my hair stylist that I wanted a chunky shag. When my husband greeted me at the door, he exclaimed “You look like Carol Brady!” God, I know he was right, but I said “You better have thought she was hot!” He was puzzled because he, once again, thought he landed the perfect compliment.
Post Brady cut, I asked my stylist to do something really short, like a Mia Farrow kind of thing. On the way home I called my husband and told him his lines. This is a brilliant way for both parties to feel successful in a marriage. Because men, for the most part, just want to know the right thing to say. The problem is, they don't know what the magic words are. So, I tell my husband what to say when I smell a giant verbal fart coming. You might think this sounds a little bossy, but he always has the option to say his own lines. Here's the rest of the story that serves as an excellent example of why I should give my husband his lines, and why he should not improvise:
On the way home from the salon, I was recalling the Carol Brady comment that ruined my last haircut and decided he needed his lines so I gave him a call: "Dear, I'm driving home from the hairdresser and I have a new, very short haircut ..." I tell him its new and very short because he might not otherwise know. "... and here's what I want you to say 'you look very nice' and then I want you to give me a hug and a kiss, okay? That's it." He sounded bored and said "Okay." A few minutes later, I walk in the door and I give him a tentative smile while he quietly looks over my head with a loving smile on his face. He's confident and secure with his lines and he says "You look very nice, dear." Then he hugs me and takes another long look and says "you look very mature." So, then I knew that this was another hair failure and also I needed to enroll him in acting lessons.
Initially I was feeling pretty awesome and daring with my new short haircut. It takes a lot of guts to go boyishly short. There's always the possibility of being mistaken for a lesbian. I have no problem with lesbians but I prefer for people to know which side of the fence I fell off of, just in case I'm putting off any misleading vibes. Jesus, I don't want a bunch of women following me around thinking I'm up for grabs! Therefore, with all short haircuts, I have a self-imposed dress code which requires earrings and lipstick every minute of the day. That's a pretty serious commitment.
The other problem about boyishly short haircuts for me is that I look like a giant Q-tip. My husband says we look like big thumbs. Therefore, having a mane of hair makes me look more fluffy on top.
Lastly, boyishly short haircuts do not require a lot of "get ready" time. BUT, going to the hairdresser every six weeks to make sure I'm not growing a beard on the back of my neck is a big fat hassle. This is where I start showing my Y-genes: I hate going to the hairdresser and I hate pedicures. Its just so boring and long. My friends tell me they feel pampered. I feel like I'm being patronized and its true, I am. A patron.
I should start fresh with a new hairdresser and act like I speak Russian (I have to pick a language that no one else can speak) and then I won't have to participate in lifeless conversations about their kids and my kids and how short the summer was, and how hot, and everything else they don't really give a shit about and, the moment I leave the salon, they've flushed it out of their PEZ heads anyway. The other lure of acting like I don't speak English is that I'll be able to eavesdrop a lot better. And I LOVE to eavesdrop and hear things people don't know I'm hearing. Who doesn't? They're probably saying "Look at that lipstick lesbian - she looks like a cross between Carol Brady and a Q-Tip! ha ha ha"
I'm seeking a new style. I've called an emergency meeting with with seven ladies on Saturday night to discuss it over Sushi and Rock-n-Roll. I'll keep you posted.
Labels: Carol Brady