Three bottles of blonde later, my hair is finally a color that cannot be found in the clown wig spectrum. I don’t know if gentlemen prefer blondes, but some dude in a white, late 80s Cadillac sure does.
“Girl, you so fine!” is what I believe he yelled out the window as he drove past my friend Anthony and I on Friday evening. Then, just in case I didn’t hear him, he drove by and yelled it again.
ANNA. You got a double drive-by.
ME. I wish I’d been in the car for that conversation. “Dude, I don’t think she heard me. Circle the block.”
One of my best friends is in town from Chicago and we met up last night for a dinner that made us exclaim, almost simultaneously, how glad we are that we allow ourselves to eat fish. She also recently dyed her hair blonde and is seriously a knockout ohmygod. Our adorable server apparently thought so, too, as he was flirting mercilessly with her all night.
At one point I flagged him down while she was in the bathroom–
ME. So… it kind of seems like you like my friend– wait, do you have a girlfriend?
CUTE SERVER. (shamefacedly/apologetically) Yes.
CUTE SERVER. But your friend’s a cutie.
Later in the night, a dude at the table adjacent to ours turned to me.
DUDE. I have an extra jalapeno pepper. Would you like it?
ME. Ummmm, thanks?
DUDE. Happy birthday!
ME. Um, it’s not my birthday.
An hour or so later, he got up to leave and noticed that the jalapeno pepper was only half-eaten.
DUDE. I’m sorry that I got you such a crappy present.
ME. That’s ok, I’m just eating it slowly.
DUDE. I’ll get you a better one next time.
We then proceeded to smile at each other for his entire walk out the door. He wasn’t my type exactly (whatever that means at this point) but he was definitely legit cute.
One of my dearest friends is celebrating her newly earned PhD today. I don’t know when I got to the age that my friends are putting “Dr.” in front of their names, but I’m super proud of her.
ME. I’m going to call you Dr. Erin every time I talk to you from now on.
ERIN. Or at least until one of us gets sick of it.
ME. IT WON’T BE ME.
Although I am now on the far side of 25 and my friends are getting married and buying houses and being called “Dr.,” I was also invited to a sleepover next weekend. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been to a sleepover? Answer: TOO LONG.
These days, I am all smiles, all the time. The weather is gorgeous, my friends are gorgeous, and life is excellent all around. I hope yours is, too.