Transplanted Life
Monday, February 23, 2004
I promise, no more hair-related entries after this
Carter does like the blonde hair, though. I'm really surprised how important that is to me; just a couple of weeks ago I was wondering if I wanted to break it off, and now I feel good knowing that he might think I'm a little prettier than I was last week. Is this normal behavior for women? I mean, sure, it's possible for that kind of affection to sneak up on guys, too, but usually it's smoother, not so much the bouncing from one extreme to another.

It's still kind of weird for me to be feeling this way about a man, though. Every once in a while, like this morning, a sense of wrongness will hit me. I climbed out of the shower and got dressed, and I was fretting over whether this outfit or that one still worked with the new hair color, or whether Carter would think I looked good that way, when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and briefly thought, for the first time in weeks, "that's not me". Never mind that better than half of that was thinking that in relation to how this body looked with dark hair; part was still thinking "you're a man, damn it! How can you be worrying over whether or not you look pretty in that dress?"

I felt that way all the way to the office, like all that stuff I've told myself about how I, as a distinct individual, came into being seven months ago and should consider myself a woman, was utter rubbish. Thirty years of memories said otherwise. That was before actually getting to work, and talking with the people there. That's when the present-day experience starts to trump memory; when you've got people treating you like you're one thing, it's tough to convince yourself that you're something else.

Kate and Jen thought the dye-job turned out pretty nice, although Maureen just said something snotty along the lines of it suiting me. A lot of the guys who'd gotten used to me sitting around stopped to give me second looks, which was amusing. I don't really think the hair color makes me more attractive, but I know what guys associate a blonde with my figure with, for better or worse. Carter grinned wide and kissed me right in the middle of the lobby, which was kind of thrilling; my head spun a little. He said it was too bad he was busy that night; evidently Dmitri was able to score a couple Bruins tickets. I tried to convince him that Dmitri really should bring his girlfriend, but apparently Sam had to work tonight. He promised we'd do something later in the week, though.

The evening wasn't a total loss; Kate, Jen and I did a movie (Mystic River, getting Kate one step closer to her goal of seeing all the Oscar contenders before the awards). Then I walked home; it's just about a half hour along the river, good for combatting too many popcorn dinners.

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