I was just saying how grateful I am not to have the kind of job where I actually have to brush my hair in the morning, and then someone pointed out that I do. I do have that kind of job.
Well this is brand new information.
Kid: “I have a question for you, since you’re a blonde.”
Me (terrified about where this is going): “Ok…”
Kid: “Do people look at you more because you’re a blonde?”
Me: “Not that I have noticed, no. Why do you ask?”
Kid: “Well, my friend is a blonde, and she says people look at her more because of it.”
Me: “Oh…well…that might be her perception. But that doesn’t make it a fact.”
Kid (taking a deep breath, turning bright red): “I’m talking specifically about boys. Like, BOYS look at her more.”
Me (smiling, but secretly wishing I still taught Kindergarten): “Yeah, kiddo. I had a feeling that’s what you meant.”
Kid: “So is it true? Do boys like blondes better? Because she said that’s something that like EVERYONE knows.”
Me: “Look, there are lots of silly things said about hair color, and many other physical features for that matter, but those are just generalizations and stereotypes. The truth is that everyone has different tastes, and different qualities, both physically and personality-wise, that they find attractive. It completely varies from person to person, and you should just focus on being proud of your own unique and wonderful traits, because I promise you that plenty of people– BOYS included– are going to notice them.”
Kid: “Ok, that makes me feel better.”
Yeah, well, it shouldn’t. I’m a dumb blonde. What the fuck do I know?
That moment when you’re getting ready for work and you look out your window and spot a woman who’s just got it all wrong. The outfit, the hair, the bag, the makeup, the expression on her face– everything is a giant hot mess. And you just want to reach out, give her a hug, and say “Come girl, let’s fix you.”
Wait, not a window. A mirror.
Remember that first time you saw a grown man’s penis? Remember how the sight of it caught you COMPLETELY off guard? And remember how it wasn’t just one penis, it was about 25 penises at once? Mere inches from your face? Flopping around to a catchy, upbeat musical jam? And you were 10?
Oh, ok, so your mother DIDN’T take you to see the Broadway musical Hair when you were in 5th grade.
Well. Lucky you.