Hair. Cut.

“Thank God, I’m no longer a blonde.” Darlene turned from the mirror and swooshed her waist-length (and now carrot-red) mane — all in one dramatic motion. Apparently, this hairdresser was only a blonde for a week, hated it, and opted for something new. I was afraid to ask what her natural colour was – in case she couldn’t remember. As she stood by the mirror in her low-rider jeans and tank top, warming herself with a hair dryer this snowy Ottawa day, I thought: True, blonde would be a disadvantage for you.

Thankfully, she doesn’t cut my hair. I was in Zahia’s shop on Clarence for my usual clip. Zahia’s a true brunette, she’s got brains, and loves to chit-chat. I’ve been going to Hair by Zahia since Mulroney was popular. She asked me if I had watched the Academy Awards.

“No, I don’t do that anymore,” I quipped. “I’ve been married for three years and I no longer feel like I have to do that. Frankly, I don’t care how bad Gweneth Paltrow looked on Sunday night.”

I surprised myself with this outburst. Zahia abruptly stopped cutting. Then I felt a surge of energy, like a window to the outside had been opened in a steamy bathroom. I didn’t have to do dorky dating stuff anymore! Like watching figure skating! Sure, I’ll admit it: I had a crush on Josée Chouinard for a while there when she skated (and inevitably fell) to Moon River, but other than that, I hated it.

The promise of cuddles on the couch during long Sundays in early relationship years will make a man do anything. But who wants to think of sow cows when you’re makin’ the moves. Now that we’re married, and settled, those days are over. If you’re married, you know what I mean. Besides, turnabout is fair play. Suzy refuses to watch Wrath of Khan with me ever again. You gotta wonder why. In that (classic!) Star Trek movie, Ricardo Montalban plays the leader of an exiled race who seeks revenge on Captain Kirk. And he was dressed better than Gweneth at the Oscars.

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