It wasn't so much the exact words he said, but the way he said it, the look on his face as he looked at my hair and the way his hands were making strange gestures around his face that brought to mind one of those black and white images of Einstein, whom we all know for his radical cosmetology skills.
Ok, so I knew my hair was, well, just a little bit edgy yesterday. I’d thrown it up in a messy bun right before going to bed the night before and seriously, why is it that your pre-bed hairstyles always look amazing and your morning attempts fall so flat? Anyways, I’d rolled out of bed the next morning, took a quick inventory, tucked in a few extra bobby pins (women's answer to ducktape!) and wore that baby to work. Yah, I know. Life on the edge.
Now, this guy’s been a great friend of mine for years, we go way back and I have a huge respect for him. But wow, he gets a glaring ZERO for tact. Because he didn’t mention my hair just that once. No, he mentioned it twice and the second time was even more insensitive and insulting. In front of another guy coworker. *collective gasp from all the women reading this*
Girls, I was embarrassed. I don’t blush easily, but I felt my face turning into a fiery inferno right there as I sat in my office chair with all of his 6 foot everything towering over me in the doorway of my office. If someone had handed me nightlock berries I would have eaten then right there.
Anyways, he eventually left my office and like a little oversensitive girl who’s had her braid pulled by a boy in school, I started tearing up and getting a runny nose (which I’m sure did not help the overall fashion ensemble) and seriously considered taking my desk scissors to my hair and just being done with it. Or at the very least, somehow manage to reform my hair into something less reminiscent of what I imagined must look like a Helen Bonham Carter. But the ladies bathroom was all the way on the other side of the building and I’d have to walk past other people to get there, people who would probably barely be concealing their horror as the bride of Frankenstein came trolling down the hallways towards them.
But after a moment of water-eyed, nose stinging shame, I plucked up the remainder of my dignity and made it to the bathroom. Where I tore down that ill-fated messy bun (which hey, really look fine! It was cute and hip, really! Trust a guy not to see it!) and went the polar opposite by forcing it into a conservative bun at the nape of my neck. Then I shut myself in the bathroom stall and cried.
It’s true, I probably over-reacted (okay, yes, I did), but maybe I’m just a wee bit sensitive about guys’ opinions. And seriously? Having a guy so brutally point out flaws in your appearance (twice!) is enough to damper the self-worth of any girl.
But you know, God has a lesson in everything (even the mindless insensitivity of a coworker) and with His lessons, there comes His affirmation, too. As I leaned against the wall rail aching my bruised little heart out over something that was actually (sorta) laughable, God still saw the genuine hurt it had caused me and He came into the Ladies Bathroom there with me and told me He loved me, bad hair day and all. He really did. He reminded me that what others say really isn’t important, that His love is my identity and His love and affirmation of me is enough. It was like a little snuggly blanket of His presence making me feel like I was still beautiful even though this guy had told me I looked dimwitted (refer to Insult #2).
So, this tragic tale does have a happy ending after all and even though maybe I won’t ever try wearing my bed-head to work again…at least I got to feel a little bit of God’s extra-nearness today because of it. I’ll settle for that any day.
And I may or may not have gotten a tiny bit of revenge by drawn attention to the fact that his hair is starting to thin on the top. But that wasn’t very nice of me, so I shouldn’t brag.