Saturday, May 15

On being a girl

Today, I went to the hairdresser. Not unusual -- I'm a woman, and this stuff grows fast. Someone's got to keep it under control. Today, however, was different. Today was tantamount to surrender. I was taking my first steps toward true womanhood. I was ... dying my hair. I like my hair, for the most part, but I have accomplished a serious milestone and as a result, I decided to reward my appearance. (Normally, I reward my CD or DVD collection, because who gives a shit about how I look?) So I did it. I got the girly highlights. And I like them. Mostly it looks like I've spent serous time at the beach ... while simultaneously managing to not let a ray of sun hit my skin. (Okay, that's not true. I've already got the season's first crop of freckles. Meaning I'm a slightly darker shade of pale.)

After the hours spent at the salon, I hit the mall with my sisters. I didn't need anything, but my little sister needed summer clothes and my older sister is the best personal shopper ever. Somehow, with all the clothes flying madly about, I managed to buy something. A sweater twin set. Lightweight, for summer. Cute little spaghetti-strap tank. But here's the thing, people. And I really don't know how to say this other than to just come out with it. It's pink. This may be the first pink thing I've voluntarily purchased since I was 8. I'm sorry, I just had to -- it goes really well with my hair.

I came home late from all the festivities, and I had to take Sam out for a walk. (Like the good stepmom I am, I'm watching him while Jen's in the Big Apple for the weekend.) My mom had expressed concern about me walking alone at night, in the dark, in the city. I scoffed, and said that I was more worried about anyone who tried to accost me and my pit bull. But she had planted a seed. I don't know if the dye chemicals had gotten to my brain, or if I was overcome with pinkness, but all I could think was: Women aren't supposed to walk alone at night. It's not safe. And more importantly, it's not smart. And I always do the smart thing. I hate that I had to second-guess my actions because of my gender. I hate that I felt vulnerable walking around the block. And, at that moment, I almost hated being a girl.

But then I got home, and I caught site of my (let's face it) unbelievably cute hair, and my cute tank top, and I checked the WNBA stats for the night, and I knew I wouldn't change it for the world. I'm getting kind of good at this being a girl thing.

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