My Colorist

I've had my hair colored twice
In the past six months
And I'm wondering how soon I can go back again
Without looking, you know, suspicious

I should explain...

I happen to be in love with my colorist, Freso
My gay colorist

And I don't mean that lightly
In a light sense
Like--'Oh, I love him.  He's fabulous!'

No, I mean--

I love him

The first time he colored my hair
It was like an angel
Was turning me into the woman
I'd always wanted to be

The minute I sat down in the chair
Freso was so attentive, so tender
He asked for my opinion
My opinion!

Suddenly I was consulting with someone
About my life, about my own life
And what I wanted to do with it

Then it was all happening so fast

The washing, the coloring
The waiting, and then the downhill slide
The cutting and trimming

And finally--Whoosh!

I'm brand new!

But it was all over so fast

And at the end of it
I gave Freso everything that was in my purse
Including my card
And on the back I wrote
'I need you'

He thought I was just being sweet
But that night, I looked at myself in the mirror
New hair glistening
And I dove into a wild, lust-filled
Individual experience
That can only be described as revolutionary

The next day I went back
And asked to have my hair colored again
But Freso said--'Too soon, too soon, my darling'
And so I began to hate my hair

The color
The cut
The texture

When the time had come
When I had waited as long as I could wait
I went back and experienced the whole thing
All over again

The touching
The tenderness
The transformation

But still, Freso would only give so much of himself to me

So I started bringing friends
Relatives
Neighbors
Strangers

I'd pay for their coloring

So long as it allowed me to see Freso
To see him work his magic
On the world

One night, I brought in sixteen people
And by the time Freso was done with them
It was after seven o'clock
And he and I were alone in the salon

I had spritzed myself
With Eau de Jene
Which sounds like perfume
But it's actually what they spray on Entenmann's cakes
To make them smell more enticing

I invited Freso to run away with me
To leave this suburban hoi polloi
And go somewhere
Where true talent is cherished

He asked me if he could bring his lover, Charles

That was when I left
Dejected, rejected, ejected
...Jected on all counts

I knew I could never return
To that Supercuts again

But my hair?

My hair still looked wonderful

And that's more than most women can say

Isn't it?