The guys are getting even with the gals. After years of describing to our husbands what another mom looks like, “well, she’s blonde,” they’ve had enough. “Don’t tell me she’s blonde! They are all blonde!” It’s true; most of my friends are blonde. And my friends and I start every description this way as if blonde is the most distinctive detail and others like tall, runner, two kids, happy, are secondary. Turnabout is fair play. Bald is the new blonde for guys. Now, one by one, the guys are shaving their heads and I have to say, I think I know how they feel now about the blonde epidemic. I really wish I didn’t.
I don’t particularly like this hairless-style trend and I would like it to go away. The guys are starting to all look alike. And if you don’t see them but a few times a year, they really are hard to tell apart and it doesn’t matter what color the hair was before the shave-down. It’s all gone and only a pale shadow remains. It adds to the sameness as if they couldn’t be any more the same. I know it’s easier and way better than pulling a Donald Trump with the most talked about “comb over” of all time. I just never thought I would have so much trouble identifying someone.
One of those “trendy” dads is at the deli counter when I pull up with my cart. I think I know him but I’m not sure until he introduces himself to me first. We have a nice chat about getting his lunch there because he works nearby. A couple of weeks later, I see him again at the same place around lunchtime. I’m a little braver saying a simple “hi” first and he responds as I had hoped, “Hi Francie.” Yay! He knows me. We chat a little bit and move on to other shopping.
A few months later, I see Trendy Dad again. It’s lunchtime at the deli and I start talking to him right away. We have a really nice conversation about the weekend and skiing and how nice it is nobody is playing basketball this winter. This strikes me as odd. His family is super sporty, especially his oldest son. I push him on this, “Really? No basketball?” “Well, (insert girl name), didn’t want to play this year.” I think to myself, “the daughter, what’s-her-name, is awfully young to make decisions about basketball and the son surely would be playing.” I push further, “Well what about Joey? Isn’t HE playing?”
“Joey? I’m talking about Sara.” I look perplexed so he repeats a little louder, “SARA.” Oh CRAP! I’m talking to a completely different Trendy Guy! I glossed over the daughter’s name the first time he said it, so sure I was talking to Trendy Guy #1. I’m soo embarrassed and I have to fess up.
“I’m sooo sorry. I thought I was talking to Johnson!” I can’t even come up with the first name because my memory is so bad and I’m so fraught with confusion. “I just don’t see you guys that often…and well…..you look so similar…..and well….I’m soooo sorry.” Ugh. These are the very words my husband says to me regarding blondes. Trendy Guy #2 couldn’t have been nicer. He was cool, calm and seemingly understanding. I could barely lift my face to look him in the eye, only a microsecond to read his true feelings. I had to get the heck out of there. Collect myself in private.
I’ve had some really rich conversations with Trendy Guy #2 so this is extra humiliating. I’ve just never seen him at the deli counter, only at the pool or after church. Naturally I would assume it’s Trendy Guy #1 from the deli counter. I’ve seen him there before and the pool and my neighborhood. Oh My God! I am so pathetic. In my defense, they are similar in height, close to mine, 5’ 6”. They dress very similarly, plaid shirt and khakis. And of course, the DO is 100% the same, even the sheen! They must see the same barber. If my husband could see me now, I’d be eating some serious crow.
I am tested again, two weeks later, same deli counter. It’s late Sunday morning and I’m coming straight from church. I see a Trendy Guy, my height, and proceed with caution. What is it that draws Trendy Guys to this deli? If this is Trendy Guy #2 he would be dressed in church clothes too, unless he skipped today. I’m still wary. I smile and say a quiet, not too friendly “hi” and he says a simple “hi” back. He finds the paper number machine before me and offers up a ticket. “Here, you were here fir-tht.” Praise God! He has a lisp! I don’t know ANY Trendy Guys with a lisp so I KNOW it’s ok I’m not sure if I know him.
Next time my husband asks me a blonde gal’s name I will not roll my eyes. Even if it’s the 100th time for the same person, I will empathize and cheerily respond. I’ve walked a mile in his shoes and it’s soon to be a marathon. The Trendy Guy thing is only going to grow. I’ll learn to focus on other characteristics to help me like eyebrows or ears or maybe a mole if there is one. Facebook will make a nice set of flashcards to prepare me for my next deli encounter. (I’ll bet Zuckerberg never considered this application.) I’ll be ready.
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Someone in my car made a comment re a blonde's driving skills in the next car and my teenage son responded, “Most blonde's are probably brunette.” Needless to say, I am brunette. Gotta love teenage sons.