Monday, June 02, 2008

Enough with the hair already

It's not like I'm one of those people who doesn't like compliments; in fact, I like being told that I look nice or am talented or whatever. What I don't like and what makes me extremely uncomfortable is when people compliment me on weird things. I'll back up.

Like I mentioned in my last post (and will elaborate on in my next post), I went to a Bat Mitzvah party yesterday. Matt's cousin's daughter had her Bat Mitzvah on Friday night which meant we went to Long Island for the service on Friday and returned on Sunday for the massively elaborate party. Why the party wasn't on the same day as the service I don't know--it's one of those things that's just differently in other parts of the country.

Anyway, at the service, Matt and I were sitting facing the bima (or stage) like the majority of the people there. There were also seats against the wall facing inward, basically at a 90 degree angle to us. I thought a tall, slim man in his 50s or 60s with one diamond earring might have been checking me out, but it was hard to tell. After all, he had to look in my direction. So I tried to ignore him along with the cantor's aggressively sonorous service.

On Sunday, we arrived to the over-the-top party and were immediately enveloped by family and friends. I've met most of the relatives, but there were certainly people there I didn't recognize. And, sure enough, earring guy was there and he smiled and waved at me so I smiled and waved back. I just thought he was someone I hadn't been introduced to yet and wondered who he was.

It was about two hours later when I realized he wasn't a future relative--he was trying to flirt with me. I was taking my future 4 year-old niece out of the party room because it was too loud and overwhelming for her. Hell, it was too loud and overwhelming for me. Earring guy left the main room with me, turning to smile.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi."

"You know, I love your hair. I noticed it on Friday and I've been thinking about it since then. You look great."

"Uh, thanks," I mumbled, steering Rachel away from him.

Gross. Just gross. I'm used to the randoms on the street saying things to me, but someone twice my age? At a family party? Where I'm obviously with someone? Wrong.

And I'm so sick of the fucking hair compliments. I have red hair. I've experimented with color since I was 16 and several years ago I found a red that looks natural with my very pale skin. (Think Julianne Moore. I mean, not that I look like her - I wish - but I have her coloring). For some reason, men think that commenting on my hair is a good opening. I've heard comments about my red hair from cab drivers, a co-worker's flirtatious husband, a chatty gyno, and randoms in bars and on the street.

Enough with the hair already.

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