“So, which do you prefer, a woman with curly or straight hair?” I ask, hoping for curl confirmation.
“It depends,” he says.
We’re almost at my destination. I press him. He begrudgingly admits to leaning on the straight side. Geez, why did I push?! I’m more nervous now, but there’s no time to think. I’m here.
I see my date at the bar. My approach is hesitant. I say hello. He looks at me, his eyes widening. Now, he’s nervous, at a loss for words. I think I know why, so I mumble some lame excuse explaining why my hair is curly, not straight like my picture. I’m not even sure why I felt compelled to explain. It’s just hair, right?
“Does it matter that my hair is curly?” I ask.
“Well, no, I guess … I’m just surprised,” he says, voice trailing off to a whisper.
Uncomfortable, I quickly change the subject and turn the attention to him and the hobbies listed in his profile. We order drinks and he finally seems to relax, as he shares stories of his mountain-climbing adventures. We laugh, sipping sangria. But we never quite recover from that fumbled first impression.
Bachelor #2: Italian Business Owner
It’s a late-afternoon lunch date near the shore, so I decide to show up straight (just like he expects) knowing the beach air always performs tricks on my tresses. I purposefully forget my clips, headbands, and emergency-fix spritz so I’ll be forced to accept any twists and turns the day may bring.
We sit at an outside table overlooking the water. A damp breeze is blowing. After the first bite of risotto and sip of Sauvignon Blanc, it happens. I can’t see it, but suddenly I feel my stick-straight locks expand, to the right and left, up and down, like they’re waving hello. My date banters back, “Your hair, it’s transforming right before my eyes!”
I stop eating, my fingers now entangled in a tress tug-of-war. And as I’m about to pipe in with an explanation, I look up and realize he’s already back to enjoying his meal, unfazed.
