Ode to Daniel

Yesterday, I spent several sinfully enjoyable hours in the company of one of my most favourite men ... my hairstylist.

Up until several years ago, I was the salon whore. I hopped around from one stylist to another, pitting one salon off against the other, stringing each one along and making each think that he or she was the one. The end results were often hit and miss. More often than not, I got the generic cut, one that fifty percent of the female population might sport. Sure it might have been well done, but I never had anything that elicited the "wow" reaction.

Then quite by chance, I hopped right into the chair of my friend, Daniel. For some reasons, through all the years that I'd known him, I'd never actually sat in his chair even though I, more or less regularly, frequented his salon. (And to think, all it took was for him to drop his pants at a civilised wine tasting party to catch my attention and patronage).

So what can I say about Daniel? He's a true artist. An hour in his presence is magical. No more of the pret-a-porter approach that had been my past experience. He actually makes me more me. Truly, it's haut couture custom hair. Completely unique, designed wholly for and created especially for me, and me alone.

The whole Daniel hour transcends the simple superficiality of a new hairstyle ... somehow Daniel looks beyond the exterior of a person and highlights her essence. Of course, it's always wildly complimentary. In my case, he played around with my hair for a few minutes, then escorted me to the back of the salon so he could wash my hair, at which point, he announced that I was a goddess.

"Wowee," I thought to myself, "Isn't he just the most perceptive man that ever lived?"

(Well, okay, I have to confess, he'd probably been primed for this moment since after all, I'd sent him a little email introducing him to my blogger. But life as I've said before, is all about choices, and at this particular point in time, I chose to ignore reality and to revel in the shameless flattery).

When a woman acts against her better judgement, it's game over. Never mind the fact that maybe he says this to all of his clients, or that tomorrow, I might walk into a roomful of women sporting the same cut and colour as I have. The only thing I'm certain of is that Daniel is a magician extraordinaire. I entered Daniel's salon a mere mortal, but exited a Goddess.

I'm convinced that there is a greater likelihood of infidelity vis-a-vis Richard, than there is with regards to Daniel. My whoring days are clearly over.