Today I was able to sneak in a quick trip to the farmers market. Apparently “quick” is now defined as battling dozens of wayward pedestrians, nearing road-rage to secure a parking spot, hiking across the park with heels sinking into the grass, and wiping sweat off my forehead in regular intervals. Upon arriving, I approached a large organic booth displaying a variety of fruits and veggies. A cheery woman greeted me and exuberantly said, “Oh my! Is that your natural hair color?”
In my defense, I think I am a generally decent human being. However, I hate it when people ask stupid, potentially embarrassing, uncomfortable, and nosey questions. For the record, I have never dyed my hair a day in my life; it is 100% true, natural, Scandinavian blonde. That isn’t to say that I can’t play a dumb blonde well on occasion. I also can play a blonde who could be a fake blonde, but isn’t, yet is annoyed that she’s being asked this question on behalf of all of fake blondes out there. I wanted to say, “No, it’s a wig. Is it that obvious? My oncologist said it looked great.” Or possibly, “Yes, it is. After the sex-change operation, I started growing this lovely blonde hair. I think I was meant to be a woman all along.” I even contemplated, “Why yes. Is that your natural lack of self-control?”
But, of course, I didn’t. Because although my patience-for-annoying-people tolerance was at an all time low today, I do a fantastic job at censoring my thoughts before I form them into words. It’s how I continue to maintain any degree of socialization. I said it was natural and the lady gushed about how gorgeous it was, how fortunate I was to have this hair, and how people pay blah blah blah for hair this color. Blah blah blah. Blah. Blah blah. I bought some strawberries from her and moved on.
A few booths down, I arrived at the only other large organic vendor at the market. I was inspecting the asparagus and trying to remember exactly what veggies I had bought at the store on Monday. You know the ones I spend my money on, and then allow to rot when I get home too late to cook and resort to ordering pizza instead. The young woman behind the booth looked up and said, “Wow! Is that your natural hair color?”
I’m not kidding you.
I didn’t catch on at first. I gave her a quizzical look and told her that I hadn’t been asked that question in years and I had just been asked minutes earlier. Instead of sharing in my disbelief, she diverted her eye-contact and smiled and told me how pretty it was. At that moment, I realized the cover on their new sales tactic had been blown. Perhaps next time they could make it a little less obvious, or alternate flattering comments for their potential customers. You know, or at least redefine what exactly constitutes a safe compliment ...
A Tour of My Parents’ House
2 days ago