Ladies Who Lunch

Today was a big day. See, this morning was my first trip to the hair salon. And I expect just about all of you reading this blog know what that means to me. As far as I'm concerned, walking into a new hair salon is a lot like showing up for your first day of school - you look around, you don't know anyone, they don't know you, and who knows what's going to happen when it's all over - you might go home with a black eye.

But things were off to a good start. The salon sits on the Upper East Side just a few blocks from Bloomingdale's - they get at least one point for that. And when I was buzzed up to the second floor space, I was greeted by a cute receptionist with a stylish haircut - another point in their favor - because there's nothing worse than that awkward feeling you get when the chicks at the hair salon have jacked up heads, and you wonder who did that to them. Ah, she's just offered me something to drink - great - cute and hospitable - another point.

But where is my stylist? My appointment is at 10:30, but I get the feeling she's not in the salon at the moment. 5 minutes. 10 minutes. Ah, 25 minutes, here she is. Okay, so time is not their thing - but can I really subtract a point for that? I mean, time isn't my thing either. This means I can be late and not feel bad. I'm giving them another point.

1 hour 20 minutes later, and I emerge looking better than I did when I went in - thank God, that is the point, after all. I shall return next week.

With a spring in my hair and my step, I bounced a few blocks over to Barneys, where I thought I'd just "look around." (Read: Shop with the intent of purchasing.) While in the dressing room, I overhear:

"Oh, this is too short to wear to synagogue, don't you think?"
"Ummm...yes...that probably is."

But Barneys, you've never let me down, and I'm sure you wouldn't let down the nice woman looking to make herself presentable in front of her rabbi, either.

And of course, shopping makes me hungry. So I headed upstairs to Fred's to have a bite to eat at the bar - because this is how you can best eavesdrop on conversations and people-watch. Two things I noticed immediately: I was the only woman not eating salad, and I was the only woman not drinking an alcoholic beverage. For God's sake, what sorrows are these women drowning at 3:00 in the afternoon? Was there a run on Prada peep-toes? Are Louis Vuitton bags actually made in China? Did Donatella Versace finally OD?

All in all, it was a good day that ended with a night out watching the DNC in a bar full of Democrats. More on that tomorrow...