must. do. hair.

i love my stylist. i really do.

but hanging out with him stresses me out. there's this pressure to make sure my hair looks perfect lest he look at me and say, "jhaz-meen, i give you art and zis is what you are doing wis it! you are an embarrassment to me, a stain on my ozzerwise spotless reputation az stylist to za stars!"

so whether i'm meeting him for coffee, going gay clubbing with him, or taking him to a baseball game...there's pressure.

i usually wash my hair (yes, at least i do that) but won't comb it before i run out the door.

now i must comb it, bring out the dryer, heat up the curing iron and dust off a couple hair products.

all to go to a gay club where the guys gaze over me like i don't exist.

save for the one or two who will stop me to say, "girl, you have really amazing hair!" before they go to hit on my stylist.