4-inch heels, a stripper and me.
so, i drove around the plaza for 10 minutes, determined on finding a prime spot, which i did. although i had to parallel in it, which isn't always easy for me. after four tries, i was about a foot and a half from the curb, so i called it a great parking job, got out of my car and walked toward the salon. once inside, my hairstylist met me, did a brief consultation, washed my hair, asked what movies i'd seen this summer and then sat me down for the dirty work. we didn't talk much after that. why? number one, i was tired. and i'm not much of a talker during haircuts. instead, i typically look in the mirror to try to guage whether or not i'm getting a good cut. the number two reason why i didn't chat much, though, was because i was actively listening to a conversation that i had nothing to do with.
about halfway through the hour session, a long-haired blonde sat down to have her hair straightened. she and her stylist began to talk it up. and when i say "talk," what i really mean is "yell." they yelled about everything from hair to hispanics to boyfriends to gifts to taking it off for money. no joke. the blonde was greeted by her stylist with the following words "is that what you're wearing tonight? it's hot without looking like you're trying too hard." to which the blonde replied "yeah, i mean, this is a short skirt, but it's not too short. if i go any shorter, i want to get paid for it, ya know?"
after that, i was all ears.
so, through the mirror in front of me, i watched her check her cell phone every two seconds while talking about 4-inch black pumps that are "murder MURDER" and how the solution is dr. scholls gel inserts and flip flops at the end of a long night. at this point, i began to wonder who she was. i figured she was going to the playboy shoot that is in town tonight. nothing else made much sense.
okay, so by now, i've learned that you can easily buy a dress from dillards, wear it to a hot party and return it the next day for CASH - no questions asked. and i've also learned that the blonde's boyfriend one day woke up very early (before 10 a.m.) to do the dishes for her. and the blonde was like "i mean, he doesn't have to do that stuff because he works 7 days a week so i can have everything i want."
when her badly rooted hair was finally straight and she was gone, my hairdresser turned to me and said "we see it all here on fridays. that girl is a stripper downtown. she comes in every week to get her hair straightened." classy.
oh, and the 4-inch heels part? she was wearing them. white ones. at 12:30 p.m. on a friday afternoon. when it looked like rain.