A little blonde'll do ya

I have never really thought much about hair color. I, myself, have the capacity to be either very blonde (with the help of the summer sun and a swimming pool) or a light brown. As I get older, I spend less time exposing my head and face to the sun due to the fact that my mom has had skin cancer and I want to avoid premature aging if possible. Trying to care for my skin means that I don't get the normal "blonding" action that I used to. No big deal really, after all it's just hair color right? That is what I thought until yesterday.

Every 6 weeks I go to see my hair "girl." My "girl" is the women who does my hair to my exact specifications whilst listening to me rant and rave about my life. Okay, so I'm not that bad. I'm not that high maintenance, but hair it is one of those things that has to be done right. I need someone who can listen to my desires rather than just go to town chopping away at what they think my hair should look like. This women does this for me, thus she is my hair "girl."

Yesterday, during my normal appointment, she recommended adding some new summer highlights. I agreed and we went for it. After an hour of having my hair wrapped in tin foil and picking up the local radio station, I was put under a dryer. Call me crazy, but I thought these things went out of circulation in the 50's. You know what I mean, those old chair dryers with the big helmet that blows hot air on your head for hours at a time, and you only see in old movies where the women are getting their hair "set" while smoking cigarettes (oh so glam). So I am sitting in this contraption reading my annual installment of People magazine, drinking my Diet Coke and thinking to myself "this is it, I have become one of those women that spends hours in a salon getting 'done.' " After about 45 minutes of reading about the latest Red Carpet best and worst dressed (by the way, who gives a rat's you know what), my dryer dinged letting me know my hair was done baking.

After a wash and conditioner with some amazing smelling stuff, we went back to her station where she unveiled my new Do. After some light blow drying, I looked in the mirror and I can't be sure, but I think I turned 16 again. I was shocked to find how young being blonde makes you look. I thought it turned out nice, so I paid my money (which was another shock) and left. Although I like my summer blondness, by the time I made it out to my car, I had already forgotten about it. It is just hair after all, and I have been blonde many times before. On my way home, I decided to stop off at a shopping center to grab a few items. This is when I started to notice a difference in my hair color.

Something strange happens when men see a blonde women. I've seen it before with other blonde women. I can't quite understand it, except that it must be a cultural thing. One guy in a car whipped his head around while driving, another guy tripped over the curb as I was walking towards him (yes, it does help to look where you are going), and the guy at the butcher shop asked me how I was doing with one raised eyebrow, ya know the "how ya doinnn." Gross. I am no Marilyn Monroe here. This isn't platinum blonde, its just a few highlights of gold and blonde. I am not doing some goofy giggle with my legs spread over an air vent, I am wearing shorts and a T-shirt on a mission to buy cat litter.

I got home and showed my husband. "Wow. I like it. You look so cute." Cute! Hummmm. Later that evening I started to think, "do blondes really have more fun?" I'm not sure, I guess that depends on the blonde. I will say that it appears they get more attention. I'm just not sure if it's the type of attention that I am looking for.