You not a mans...anymore!

Last night I had to pay a visit to my hair stylist, even though I was certain that I just paid her a generous sum of money, like, when? Yesterday? It seems like that check just cleared! She pre-books all of my appointments, usually for a full year in advance, so I have no way of escaping her, because I don't have the balls to call her and dump her, and she knows she has me trapped with the pre-bookings. I receive a lot of flak from friends, who believe that I should just dump her, based on various reasons, including the fact that she has given me the exact same haircut for the entire time she has been my stylists, despite my protests and photos. But...we've been together for 13 years! That's twice as long as I was married! And in my divorce, it was agreed upon that I keep custody of the hair stylist, so I continue to see her, and might possibly for the rest of our lives, until death do us part.

Now, I am quite girly-girl and fastidious with grooming. Some people have real hobbies, like golf or hiking or music. My hobby is self-grooming. I love to color and wax and tint and make up and do anything else that requires altering of my personal appearance. I, of course, find myself quite adorable. I don't necessarily know if all people agree with this, but in my own mind, they do. How could they not?

While at my appointment last night, I was getting my usual eyebrow wax, when I announced that I would like my moustache waxed. My stylist snickered and insisted that I did not have a moustache in need of waxing. However, with some pleading from me, she agreed to wax my upper lip and through much pain felt on my part, managed to rip off the fine hairs that I considered my moustache. I felt gratified.

I like to believe that there is nothing manly about me, apart from my need for moustache waxing. I wear skirts, dresses and heels virtually every day. I would never dream of leaving the house without makeup or without my hair styled. I sometimes wonder if perhaps the reason that I do not get asked out on dates has to do with the reason that I simply look too high maintenance and men just don't want to deal with me, and really, can you blame them? All the same, I have no intention of changing that, even if it means having to find a man experiencing a mid-life crisis and needing a trophy wife.

However, apparently to AC, I bear a distinct resemblence to a man. When I arrived home after my appointment, she gleefully looked at me and said, "You not a mans...anymore!"

Huh? I'm not a mans, ANYMORE? I never knew that I was a "mans" to begin with, but perhaps it is through the mouth of babes that we learn how the world actually views us.