The Beautiful People

I got my hair cut. It's nice, I like it, took 2 full hours. I had a different stylist this time, George, a short Portuguese guy with perfectly trimmed beard and overplucked eyebrows. He was very good, didn't talk my ear off as I find stylists normally do.

Yes, at this salon, they are stylists, not just hairdressers (God forbid!). "Ego" (that's the salon name) is fully staffed by the beautiful people, mostly men, any of who could easily tip the scales in either direction between homo- and hetero-sexual. Russell, my normal stylist (and co-owner) once made a point to tell me that all of his stylists were straight. And, he says, men are better stylists than women. His theory: A woman will always hold back when it comes to making another woman look her absolute best. A man will always want his woman (client, in this case) to be as beautiful as possible. I agree with him. Makeover stylists on Oprah are always male therefore his theory must certainly be true!

So, as I'm sitting there in front of the mirror, I am bored at looking at myself. The salon has mirrors everywhere and I am able to see almost every angle from reflection alone, no head-turning required. I have decided that all of the metrosexual, manicured, fakin-baked men in the city must all be in this one room. I am out of place completely. These men are prettier than me!

And then the girls start coming down from the spa upstairs. They all have incredible haircuts. The haircuts are super funky and I love them - pink and red and platinum blond, spiky mohawks and brushcuts. A girl HAS to be beautiful to be able to pull off hair like THAT! As they shamelessly flirt, I can't help but wonder if the guys in the salon and the girls in the spa trade "services".

A client walks in the door. He is wearing a wool hat, pajama pants, socks in flip-flops! Even so, he is another of the beautiful people! He is tall and olive-skinned. Exotic, I decide, with red pouty lips and dark eyes, chiseled features. Black curls peek from under his hat. He sits and waits, very serious, and I can't stop myself from looking at him. And then he smiles at one of the girls and he is more beautiful. But then....his friend comes in and sits beside him. The friend is loud and impatient, tells "exotic boy" he's crazy to wait for a haircut. Exotic boy asks receptionist girl how long it will be....she says "George is almost done.". He goes back to his chair and slouches, takes on an attitude. I quickly snap back to reality! Sadly, beauty is only skin-deep.

My reflection is improving by the minute so I resume looking at myself. George snips and primps, flat-irons and fusses. I am finally done...woohoo! Feels so good, my hair is light and silky soft.

I call Jamie to pick me up. When I get in the truck he greets me with, "Hey Sexy. You look so pretty with your new haircut. Do you like it?" I smile at him and nod "yes". He makes me feel great...to him, I am one of the beautiful people. That's all that matters.