Adventures with a flat iron

Well, O, I did it. I bit the bullet and I bought one. And not just any one. I got THE one. Yup. Forked over all my cash. I cracked under the pressure. I should never have gone into gotbeauty.com! It's dangerous territory for folks like the two of us. You should have seen her, O!

I felt more than a bit uneasy without you at my side, your dark curly locks bespeaking of your heir apparent hair status quo. I walked in, my hair pulled back into my signature I'm-not-caring-today do that happens more often than not, not yet ready to open my wallet. Or, so I thought.

Right through the doors, perched on a ladder restocking the shelves full of coconut-infused-shea-butter-moisturizing-honey-suckle-extract-
no-frizz-pump-up-the-volume-brilliant-brunette-make-him-oooh-and-awwe-and-
lose-himself-in-your-locks-shampoo, was Ms. GotBeauty herself, the poster girl for everything lovely. Her OPI-pedicured toenails matched her shade of lipstick, the frosting for her pearly white smile which appeared after the most pleasant of pleasantries were exchanged. She called me "darling." And it wasn't that annoying "darling" where you feel ten years old, either. Nope. It was the "darling" that makes you stare unbelieving back at the person, pointing at yourself, and simultaneously checking your periphery for someone else more "darling" kind of "darling." I was the only sole in the store. A potential one-on-one tutorial on all things "beauty," from Belle herself. I suddenly went from "browser" to "buyer," as I soon voiced that I was in the market for a flat iron. Her silvery-coated eyes sparkled with delight as she hopped back up the ladder and pulled down THE flat iron of all flat irons. Yup. O, you know the one. The three-letter-brand that also put me into the three-digit price range. The same one that sent us out of Trade Secret and into Sally Beauty Supply (or whatever it's called. Heaven knows we'll never be caught dead in that place again. Did that lady even have hair?!) The funny thing: Ms. GotBeauty's hair was pulled off her face and into a messy-ish bun, topped off by a black-and-white polka-dot scarf. So, when she went on and on about how she herself uses this exact iron, it's not like I had living proof right in front of me in the form of her perfectly straightened glossy hair. Except that she looked so absolutely perfect herself that I was 110 percent sure that curly or straight, up or down, chemically treated or not (pretty sure it was chemically treated, though - no one has brunette-based chestnut brown highlights like that) it was an "I'll have what she's having," a "la meme chose, s'il vous plait," moment. If I bought this flat iron, I, too would have a 24" waist-line, creamy skin and lips the shade of "berry kiss." I'd look like an Ann Taylor summer ad in my pedal pushers and black and white polka-dot scarf, red toenails sneaking out my peep-toed wedges, adding just the right punch of color.

I was doing this exact sort of day-dreaming, and imagining the artsy Banana Republic-y guy who'd see my brown tendrils flowing in the wind and start walking my way in his linen slacks and oxford shirt (sleeves rolled up to his forearm, of course) when she said, "So, you'll go with this one then?" "Yes. I'll have what you're having. And throw in a couple of bottles of whatever OPI shade is one your toes, too!" Okay, so I'm not that crazy. But I figured since I was practically buying the store, I might as well get a bottle of OPI, too. I snatched "Dutch Tulips" up on my way to the counter and emptied out my wallet...down to the nickel.
So, with you at the beach, I am now the proud owner of one professional-grade flat iron. I've straightened and stretched (and even tried your curling suggestions) on my own and I'm no where close to you, Miss Hair Idol. The first time I tried to do ringlets, the looked a great deal more like kinklets. So please, O! Hurry home before I appear in public again post-straightener session, losing sight of my Ann Taylor-ed future, or before (heaven help me) I go back to that place and break the bank on Velcro-ed hot rollers!

p.s. Any readers with hair tips, tell ALL!