So today’s horoscope suggesting the makeover was just the push I needed. After the gym, I planned to hit the salon and see what can be done about this unruly mop. Maybe I’ll even ask for some highlights. Pink or blue would be perfect. I needed a makeover.
For a Saturday morning, the gym was packed. I found the only free treadmill and it was wet with sweat. Gross! Why are some people pigs? Seriously. You’re supposed to wipe off the machine when you’re done exercising but obviously some idiot didn’t. So I got some wipes and cleaned it off. It made me gag. I’m a bit neurotic when it comes to public surfaces anyway, and actually seeing the sweat on the machine made me itch.
About forty minutes into my run, I spotted Hottie Advertising Guy across the gym. I’d never seen him here before, but I wasn’t surprised he was a member because we had a company discount.
My throat tightened as he walked towards me. Sweat dripped from my face and onto the treadmill. My shirt and shorts were soaked. I nonchalantly sniffed my armpit and confirmed it smelled like sweaty socks.
Maybe he won’t recognize me, I thought. He’s never seen my hair in a ponytail. But that also means he’s never seen my pointy elf ears. I felt like a fly caught in a spider web. I was stuck, unable to move, waiting for hope to be sucked out of me.
I looked down. Keep going. Keep going. Don’t stop. You do not see me. That’s it. Walk on by.
“Hey Jason!”
Hottie Advertising Guy turned around.
A guy dressed like he was a walking ad for Nike yelled, “Can you spot me?”
Thank God! Hottie Advertising Guy turned around to help Nike Man lift weights.
I took a sip of water and checked to see how many calories I’d burned. Oh, shit! It was 666. I loathe that number. I increased the speed on the treadmill so the counter would change.
Normally, I’d lift weights after finishing my run on the treadmill. But I didn’t want to take the chance Hottie would see me all sweaty and stinky, so I bagged that part of my workout. Instead, I hit the sauna before showering and going to the salon.
Stephen ran his slender fingers through my mess of black curls. He’s been doing my hair for a year now and we hit it off almost immediately. Too bad he prefers guys. I usually go about every five weeks but I hadn’t seen him for a while.
“So what do you think?”
He shook his head. “It looks like shit, but it’s not a lost cause.”
I smiled. “I can always count on you to be brutally honest, can’t I?”
He patted my shoulder. “And you wouldn’t want it any other way.”
“True.”
“So I’ll snip here and snip there and layer it a little and you should be good to go.”
“What about a blue chunk on the side?”
“Blue? I was thinking pink.”
“Pink is good.”
“Yeah, let’s do pink. It will pop against your black hair. You’re sure, right?”
“Absolutely. My horoscope told me to try something different.”
Stephen cracked his neck. “You actually believe in that crap?”
I shrugged. “Nothing else has worked so why not give it a try? Maybe if I follow it I’ll find a guy.”
Stephen threw a gray drape over me and snapped it at the back of my neck. “Sorry, I can’t help you in that department. But give it time. It’ll happen.”
“I just turned twenty-six, Stephen. That’s TWO SIX! I’m more than a quarter century old. Another twenty-five and I’ll be fifty and my life will be half over. I’m ready to find Mr. Right, or at least a few Maybes. And following ‘normal’ dating procedures hasn’t worked.”
Stephen cleared his throat. “By normal dating procedures you mean hanging out at area bars?”
“Yeah. And staking out the gym, which hasn’t proven advantageous either. Nor has the library or the bookstore or the coffee shop where all the nerdy but nice guys set up office for the day in booths that have receptacles underneath. So yeah, it’s me and Horoscope, baby. Can’t do any worse than I’m doing now.”
Stephen worked his magic, snipping and layering so quickly his hands were a blur.
“So how’s David?”
“We broke up.”
“You broke up? But I thought he was your forever.”
“Me, too. But he dumped me for a guy fifteen years younger.”
“Oh, Stephen. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Not many people do. It happened about two weeks ago. I came home and he had moved out.”
“Shit!”
“Yeah. I’m swearing off men for a while.”
“Geez, we make a good pair.”
Stephen laughed. “It’s just too bad we both prefer men.”
By the time Stephen was finished, I felt like a new woman. And the pink chunk on the side was the perfect choice.
“Stephen, you’re a genius. Thanks!”
He removed the drape. “At least I make my clients happy.”
I stood. “David’s dumb.”
“And I’m dumber for falling for him.”
I patted Stephen’s back and handed him a tip. “Don’t worry. Mr. Right will come along.”
“Thanks,” Stephen said. “Yours will, too.”
I had some errands to run before going home and getting ready to go out with the girls. By the time I got to Joe’s, Victoria, Frankie and Jada were cozying up at the bar. Jada saw me first. “Love. The. Hair.”
Victoria and Frankie turned around and I was greeted by a chorus of oohs and aahs.
“Love the pink!” Frankie said. “Bold and sexy.”
“Who wants a buttery nipple?” Victoria asked a little too loudly. Two guys a few stools yelled they did.
I’ve never had one, but I know Horoscope told me to try something different today so I was game. The bartender lined up four shot glasses and mixed some butterscotch schnapps and Irish cream.
Victoria, Frankie, Jada and I raised our shot glasses. “To new beginnings!” Victoria said.
We all downed the shot and I licked my lips. It tasted like a butterscotch candy. Definitely too sweet to do more than one.
“Who would name a drink Buttery Nipple?” Frankie asked. “I wonder what was going through the person’s mind.”
“Maybe it was named to attract men,” Victoria said. “Imagine walking up to a guy. How would you like to taste a Buttery Nipple?”
We laughed.
“There’s a shitload of drinks with dirty names,” Jada said. “Some are really vulgar. Like Creamy Pussy. Imagine ordering that for your love interest.”
“That’s really a drink?” I asked.
Jada nodded. “It’s Baileys Irish cream and strawberry cream liqueur. It’s actually not bad if you can get by the creamy pussy part.”