Girls’ Night Out
It started out like any other day. I woke up in the morning, took a shower, got dressed, did my hair, and makeup. I looked at myself in the mirror. In particular, I looked at the fluff that was my hair. About two months prior to that, I went to the beauty shop to have my hair done. I told my beautician to, “put straightener in my hair, please. I’m sick of my natural curly hair. Not only that, but I’ve been a brunette from the time I was born. I want to go blonde. And make it as blonde as you can get it.”
“Are you sure, Katherine? I mean, are you sure this is what you want me to do for you today?”
Dorothy asked me with a solemn expression on her face that I caught from her reflection in the mirror.
“I’m positive. I need a change in my life, starting with my hair,” I responded, looking at myself in the mirror in disgust with myself.
First, Dorothy put lightener in my hair, creating red highlights. “Is this the look you want?” she
asked while rubbing solution into my hair.
“Lighter. Remember, I said make it as blonde as you can. And I mean blonde, blonde. Extra blonde. You know. Bright,” I annunciated while using had gestures to help me get my point across. “Not
only that, but once my hair is straightened and colored, blow dry it to make it poofed.”
So that’s what she did. I examined myself in the mirror when Dorothy finished with my hair, and smiled contently to myself, saying, “Perfect.”
The next day, I was walking on the Kalamazoo Mall, downtown, near a building that had mirrors covering the outside of it. I glanced at my reflection. The confidence I had the previous afternoon, at the beauty shop, faded. I furled my eyebrows, saying to myself, “maybe I overdid it with the blonde. I don’t think my hair is supposed to be so blindingly bright like the sun. Maybe I should walk back home, get in the shower to wash my hair, to get some of the coloring out so my hair won’t be so bright.”
To have my hair blond, not only blonde, but mousy blonde, sickened me. Not only that, but I needed a new hair style. A new image overall. So I not only went to the beauty shop, but this time I had a family friend do my hair. Her name was Emily.
Upon my arrival, Emily approached me and asked, “What do you want to do your hair today, Katherine?”
“I definitely need a new look. Can you take all the yellow out of my hair, and only leave the reddish color and highlights, if possible?” I asked while raising my eyebrows.
“I’ll see what I can do. Why do we have you come with me to a sink, and I’ll get started.”
After washing the yellow out of my hair, Emily wrapped a towel over and around my head, and asked me to hold it in place while I followed her to her assigned chair and vanity. She took some rollers. Large ones, and rolled them into my hair to create a flip up do. Once they were ready to be taken out, she removed them, and fluffed my hair with her hands and fingers. She then took a curling brush and ran it through my hair in a motion that created a flip do. Or should I say she used a motion that enhanced the flip do.
“So, Katherine. What are you going to do tonight? Do you have any plans? The reason I asked is because I’m going with some girls to the Jazz Fest tonight. I was wondering if you’d like to come with us. It will be fun.”
“Sure. I’d love to go. Not only that, but jazz music is my most favorite genre of music.” I said enthusiastically.
“Great. I’ll pick you up at seven. From your house, where going to pick up Susan and Becky. Oh, and Erin. From there we’ll make another stop at some friends. A couple who recently got married after dating for ten years. Rick and Angela didn’t believe in living together until he officially put a ring on her finger after saying their I do’s,” she laughed, and bid me good bye as I got out of the chair.
Emily showed up in a cherry red Corvette. I got inside, and we went to pick up her two friends. But first, we made a quick stop at a party store. Emily recommended, “an ice, or should I say a frost beer, Katherine. The frostier the beer, the better.”
I accepted the beer from Emily, and followed her to the register to pay for it.
We arrived at an apartment complex where five of her friends lived. Walking inside, she introduced me to Erin, James, Valerie, Max and Libby. Libby had shoulder length, chestnut brown, hair with beautiful thin pipe curls. It was at this point I started missing my own curls, because envy got the best of me. I felt jealous of Libby with her beautiful curly hair. Not only that, but I soon regretted getting straightened put in my hair in the first place, let alone putting lightener and other crap in my hair that I told Dorothy to do. But, oh well. I just had to endure my new look.
Max was a shoe smith by profession. He designed his own line of women’s wear. Emily to the shoes from him that he proudly displayed before everyone. All of us, I should say. Emily liked them so much, she tried them on and danced around in the living room, laughing excitedly. “They are the most comfortable shoes I have ever had the pleasure of wearing. Not only that, but they are the cutest things I have ever laid eyes on, where shoes are concerned. You are really going to bring in the big bucks with these.”
“I’m glad they meet your approval. Do you think I could have them back now, before you end up ruining them?” Max laughed.
Emily took off the shoes, handed them back to Max with the utmost care, and asked, “Libby, are the rest of you going to the Jazz Fest tonight? I know Erin is. That’s why Katherine and I are here. She is riding with us. I’m going to be picking up two other friends, as well, when we leave from here.”
“Are you kidding? Jazz music sickens me. I can never get excited about it. Neither can the others, here, other than Erin and the two of you. And whoever else is going with. All I can say is, have a good time, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Libby responded while getting up from the floor.
Emily and I walked out of the apartment and headed to her car with Erin.
We picked up the other two girls, and then stopped at Rick and Angela’s. Rick was sleeping, because he put in a sixteen hour day doing construction work, and he suffered from exhaustion. So, we quietly left and headed downtown to Arcadia Creek, where the Jazz Fest was being held.
We got in line and showed identification so we could get stamped, and legally purchase drinks, without any hassle. The five of us girls then walked over to the bar where we ordered whiskey sours, and walked with our drinks over to the crowded stage to enjoy some good jazz tunes performed by Fists of Hope, a local Kalamazoo band.
We danced while sipping our drinks.
The lead guitarist came down from the stage to chat with us, while still playing his guitar. “Are you ladies having a good time tonight? Buckle in and enjoy the ride to the waves of melodic hustle and bustle,” he shouted as his voice got higher and into a screech, as did his guitar.
The music by the stage got it started hurting our ears. So we looked for a table that was far enough away from the stage where we could preserve our hearing, but yet, close enough to be near the excitement. As luck would have it, we found a good table at an excellent location. We sat down and chatted.
Becky started the conversation by asking me, “So Katherine, do you have any kids? I have three, and Susan has five. Practically all of my friends have kids. And, well, you obviously would know that Emily has kids.”
“I haven’t really found the special guy, yet. The problem is that many of the guys that approach me really aren’t my type. I’m looking for a guy who has extremely good looks, is well built, kind, sensitive; yet, masculine, at the same time. And I want the guy to be someone that respects women, loves literature, especially poetry, and adores kids. But unfortunately, I’ve run into nothing but dead ends,” I said solemnly.
“Good luck finding a guy like that. No one in this world is that perfect. You need to be more realistic in your approach. Hell, I’d look for a guy that is basically good to you, doesn’t beat you, just loves you, and is hardworking enough to hold down a job and help you pay the bills with both your incomes, if I was you,” Becky responded while taking a sip of her drink.
Emily and the other two girls remained silent, because they had their attention focused on the
On our way home, we stopped at my house first. I left my unopened bottle of beer on the floor of Emily’s car, and said, “You should keep this beer. There is something very special about this unopened bottle. I can feel it.”
“Thank you, Katherine. I’m so glad you could join us tonight,” Emily said through the window of her car, and she drove off with the rest of the girls.