Gettin’ our sexy on
By JON KOONSMAN
I like to think of myself as a man’s man – the product of generations of chasin’ wild cattle and stompin’ broncs. I wear denim and leather year round, and you will never find me in a pair of bikini briefs - unless it’s Jenni’s birthday.
Just between us, last year she wanted me to wear a straw hat with my briefs (before Easter!). She is so naughty.
I like my horses tough, my cattle fat and my women skinny. I prefer dogs and only keep a cat around in case I run out of dog food.
I eat meat – even for a snack – and I don’t order drinks that come with a tiny umbrella. If there is an umbrella involved, I favor drinking a cold Lone Star under it.
I only cry when watching ‘Lonesome Dove’ and even then only if I’m alone. Jenni once walked in on me just as Augustus McCrae - down to one leg and fading fast - whispered those final words.
“Ay god, Woodrow, it’s been quite a party, ain’t it?”
I quickly wiped my eyes and growled, “Nice rack, Woman … what’s for supper?” She almost caught me.
Haircuts became a similarly manly affair after the sudden departure of my barber some time ago. Store-bought haircuts require me to go to town, so Jenni began having a go at me with the hedge trimmers and hoof nippers.
It’s a brutal process, but usually quits hurting as soon as she’s done. My hair, which often looks like it’s angry at my head, put up a pretty good fight but Jenni did an admirable job with the available equipment.
One evening on my way home from doing something manly, I called Jenni and told her that I would be needing a haircut before a meeting the following day.
She quickly informed me that she was headed out for ‘girl’s night’ with my sisters and niece, and that if I would like a haircut I would have to join them.
Having little experience with ‘girl’s night’, I logically assumed that it would take place at a bar and pointed my truck in that direction.
I’d never had a haircut in a bar, but felt comfort knowing that my sisters would have my back in case of a fight.
Imagine my surprise when I found myself at a salon instead of a saloon.
I’ve seen ‘Steel Magnolias’ (it was the only thing on TV besides women’s golf) and I was pretty sure I had just arrived at Truvy’s Beauty Parlor.
I quietly pulled into the alley where my horse could get a little shade – and hopefully nobody would spot my truck – and snuck inside to find the women in my life sipping wine and gettin’ their sexy on.
Men, allow me to warn you. Beauty is an ugly process. My wife, sisters, and niece are all beautiful women, but the scene inside that beauty parlor was brutal.
Becky, my younger sister, was in the process of getting a “gloss.” Her naturally coal black hair was slicked back with what looked like 90wt gear oil, making her look like Eddie Munster in drag.
My older sister, Amy, who is evidently more comfortable with causing gray hair than wearing it, was undergoing a similar process involving a questionable liquid and a hazmat suit.
Texting her friends, my niece Ashley sat with foil in her hair quietly awaiting the mother ship. And Jenni, draped in a black cape with a white towel covering her head and pulled down around her face, sat looking like a nun – a pregnant nun.
It made me feel kind of dirty. I liked it.
Debbie, my new ‘stylist’, is not the first woman to come at me with a pair of scissors. But having known her for many years (and having my sisters there to protect me) I threw caution to the wind and let her have a go at my do.
I’d always assumed that such events were rather pretentious, but how uppity could things really get with a pregnant nun and Eddie Munster in drag?
It was there in that salon, sipping wine under a hair dryer with the smell of Moroccan Oil emanating from my beard, that it struck me.
Not a single word had been spoken about Oprah or ill-fitting bras. My 17-year-old niece ignored her phone and had a conversation with her family. There was little talk of high-lights or low-lights or fashion.
We spoke of family, memories, triumphs, and struggles. It was in that salon, with color and foil and cellophane in their hair, that they were the most beautiful.
Somewhere around the 3rd week of September, we will be welcoming home our new baby girl.
I don’t know if I’m quite ready for that, but I do know that she will have beautiful strong women in her life to help her along.
I hope there are many ‘girl’s nights’ in our future and I hope that my closed-mindedness never prevents me from sharing those moments.
That would be an awfully high price to pay for a free haircut.