My hair stylist is an untapped resource

Every woman knows that finding the perfect hair stylist is just as difficult as finding the right man to date. And while I may not have been so lucky in love, my auburn locks are sittin' pretty after having found their perfect match.

A day at the salon for me averages to last about 3 hours, which could be brutal if it wasn't for the fact that I love nothing more than gossiping and philosophizing with my Larry. He's ever so stylish, listens to fabulous music (of which I usually have no idea who the artists are), possibly one of the kindest people I know, and HYSTERICAL.

The last time I was there, I realized that my Larry had more to offer than good hair -- he was an untapped resource. He has no interest in the straight, hot guys that walk in the salon AND, he knows all about them -- their jobs, their character, their neuroses. Not to mention that most of the guys who go to him are just the ones I'd like --- successful, mellow, stylish, and urban.

One of my Marys says I'm too picky and that requesting a stylish man is superficial. I strongly disagree as all the other qualities such as -- intelligence, kindness, sense of humor, amibition -- are a given. If I put effort into how I look, so should he.

Moving along ... I found myself 3/4 of the way through my color process, when my Larry tells me that the next client is going to be annoyed he's running late. Then, he quickly looks over at his client, looks back at me, moves in and whispers (as if he is a spy meeting me in a dark alley with information) "The guy over there is extremely successful. He just finished his first novel, he has a thriving career, he's funny and --- here's the kicker --- he's a Jew!"

I immediately squeaked "Baby, you know I love the Jews."

And he's like "Baby, that's why I told you!"

My fondness for Jewish men started early. I somehow managed to find the one Jewish guy in my small southern town, and ever since him, I've been hooked.

So, back to the story, he says to me "When you go up to pay, make sure to flirt with him."

I'm thinking "OKAY. I have not a lick of makeup on, my hair is ready for a party, but my clothes are screaming I just rolled out of bed... so, sure I'll flirt. Damn, damn, damn. Why didn't I think of wearing a cute outfit today?"

On my way to the counter I notice that cute boy is ending a phone call. There was such a small window to flirt, and I missed it.

Quick on his feet and determined to make this match, my Larry comes up and introduces me to cute boy. I quickly attempt to make a joke saying something like "Sorry I ran over into your time, but think of it this way: he feels really guilty now so you'll get a fantastic hair cut."

He smiles. I smile. A giant pause ... and then I pay and stumble outside onto the curb, smiling at just how life works.

I promptly email my Larry the next day asking for the scoop. He informs me that cute boy has been seeing someone, but he will keep me posted if they take a break. He ends with "Who knew I was such a Yenta?"