There's something about wandering into Reno-Depot to help princess shop for plexiglass and wood for frames for her art show, and wandering around staring at floor tiles ans lighting fixtures and ten million different kinds of mops and paint for too-white walls...
I keep forgetting that I have pink hair. Not forgetting about the shade or colour, but that it is anything out of the ordinary.
It isn't, to most of my friends, and not so much to my coworkers anymore, tho when Joe and Tom stopped in to say hello because they were in from Philadelphia on Friday they did a humourous double-take...
But wandering around the yuppie's hardware store, long black coat trailing behind me, there were so many stares...
I felt like a bitch-ass punk kid again, stalking the downtown streets looking surly.
It was nice.
What was odd, though, was how many times I would catch the cute-guy-with-the-ponytail offloading the crate of two-by-fours staring. Or how many times I would catch the eye of the man-with-the-broad-shoulder in the lighting section.
Or the two guys that followed princess and I out the door to the parking lot, and how I announced that "I'm sorry, I'm not into men" to deter them.
And I don't know if it's the hair that caught their attention, or that we were the only unescorted women in there, or whether it's the same old story that I'm just pretty enough to draw attention but not so much to be intimidating...
...and I'm too late for today's insanities to really worry about it.
It was just kinda cool, and kinda flattering.