But bottom line is, I was having a lousy week. An emotionally draining week with friends who lost loved ones, and other friends who...well, let's just say they didn't really act much like friends...and feeling a bit tattered and torn and like I deserved a boost. So I made a frantic emergency phone call to Johnny. To my stylist--my Romanian accented, silver-tongued, washboard abbed, Judo-blackbelt, UFC fighting, raging heterosexual...stylist.
Oh yeah... It must have been karma or kismet or something equally ethereal...but he had a spot for me...TODAY! So, here I sit waiting for my color to set, watching Johnny stride (the word "walk" just doesn't do him justice) away in a pair of FANTASTIC jeans... and anxiously waiting to see the result of my frantic plea for something different. Something unique. Something DRAMATIC! Something to make me feel...special and sexy and...renewed.
There is just something so uniquely feminine, uniquely female, about being primped and pampered, looking in the mirror and thinking...there. THAT helps. That's better. It's almost as good as eating a quart of Haagen Das chunky monkey ice cream. Or maybe it's better, because at the end of the day, you feel better about yourself, rather than worse. You feel empowered. Like you've got the world at your feet...and just a little bit sad that that boyfriend or girlfriend or bff who wasn't... or whoever you just dumped or who just dumped you, is never going to see how fantastic you look. There's healing in there. It's the power of sex. Of feeling like you have just a little more control over yourself and your body and your world.
It doesn't matter who sees you or who doesn't. It just matters that YOU know you're that sexy. You're that good. And, well...I gotta admit...it's kinda nice getting a scalp massage from my personal demi-god.
(The pic was taken in the evening after a loooong day at work, so I am NOT looking exactly perky!)