Don't Mess With a Woman's Beauty Enhancer

I was sitting in a coffee shop the other day reading the paper when a male friend of mine entered the shop. I waved in his direction, and after purchasing his coffee he pulled up a chair and sat down. Blowing out a huge sigh he proceeded to ask me how many beauty contraptions (that what’s he called them – contraptions) women had. “Beauty contraptions? Can you be a little more specific?” I asked. “You know.” he said waving his hands in the air like he was batting at a swarm of angry bees. “Like those fake hair things.” “A wig,” I guessed. “Ah, you’re killing me. No, not the whole head, just that thing, it makes your hair look longer.” “Ohhh, you mean extensions?” I said. “Extensions, whatever,” he replied, clearly agitated. “It’s false advertising.” “False advertising?” I asked raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, you know how you women are?” He was practically shouting, and I slanted my eyes at him. “Um, no, why don’t you tell me.” And maybe switch to decaf while you’re at it I was thinking. “All those contraptions. It’s like a bait and switch operation.” I squirmed a bit in my Spanx and gave a small cough. “Well yes, if truth be told, there are many beauty enhancements available to women these days. Push-up bras, false eyelashes, lip plumpers, acrylic nails, tummy controllers, color contacts….” As I ticked off the list he seemed to slump lower in his seat and his eyes glazed over.

I drank a bit of my chai latte and placed my newspaper on the table. “Did something happen you want to tell me about,” I asked? Another huge sigh, and he told me he had a few dates with a woman and then they ended up spending the night together. In the morning he found a huge clump of hair in his bed. “It freaked me out,” he exclaimed. “I didn’t know what the hell it was!” I laughed, and lucky for him I had just finished swallowing my latte, or he would have needed to change his shirt. "Uh huh, what did you do?” “I ran into the kitchen and grabbed my barbeque tongs then I went back and lifted it…the hair, off my bed. That’s when my date came out of the bathroom.” “Uh oh, what did she say?” “She was pissed at me! For crissake, she leaves a two-foot long hairball in my bed and she’s the one who’s pissed?” “Well,” I explained. “The really good ones are expensive. And were your BBQ tongs dirty?”

By this time I was laughing so hard I almost fell off my chair. People started to stare in our direction. “Are you kidding me?” he said running his hand through his hair. “She stomped across the room and snatched it right out of the tongs, gave me the finger, and left. Crazy broad!” Whoa. I stopped laughing. “Wait a minute, you’re the one standing half-naked (I presume), in the middle of your bedroom holding BBQ tongs, right? Well my friend, then you are the one who should be wearing the crazy label.” “But, I…” he stammered. I put a hand up. “Hold on, I’m not done. I seem to recall you had no problem with the girl who had breast implants, but a little fake hair in your bed and you can’t handle it?” "Well that’s different! It’s not like I’m going to find a boob flopping around in my bed now is it?” “Debatable, I mean we are talking about you and it sounds like there’s probably some flopping going on?” “Ha Ha, very funny,” he said. “Okay, but just so you know it could happen,” I said. “The early implants have been known to explode.” “Explode?” “Ok, more like leak,” I admitted. “Oh Geez,” he said throwing his hands up in the air.

He grabbed a section of my paper and began reading. I tapped the table. “So is it safe to assume you two won’t be seeing each other any more?” He lowered the paper. “Actually with the exception of the hair incident, I really like her! Do you think she’ll give me another chance?” Wow, didn’t see that coming. Maybe my friend isn’t a total Neanderthal after all. “Well more than likely she reacted out of embarrassment. All you can do is apologize and hope for the best,” I told him. “Good,” he said. We sat for a few moments just drinking our coffees. “There are enhancers for our behinds too you know,” I said chuckling. “UGH, please no more,” he begged. “Okay,” I promised. “No more talk of beauty contraptions.”