Expensive Looking Blonde

Boy and I went to go see Kareem Abdul Jubbar speak at the local college last month on a Sunday afternoon.   I had been running late and just threw on some jeans and a sweater with a pair of heels, and we drove down to St Petersburg.  It was a great afternoon.  Mr. Jubbar is so well spoken, and we learned a lot about the Harlem Renaissance.

Afterwards we stopped by my friend’s restaurant to pick up some Greek take-out.  I ate half of my eggplant portabella wrap on our way back over the bridge.   We ran down to Home Depot to pick up some stuff, and we promptly lost each other. When we finally found each other with the aid of cell phones and the helpful people who pointed out the aisle numbers when I asked where I was.  When Boy came up to me, he told me he’d found me by asking someone if they’d seen the “expensive looking blonde.”  Hmm… Not sure how I feel about that.

Talked with my work buddy today as I was wandering around the University looking for the Bursar’s office. We both have the day off, and I was honestly very surprised that he wasn’t doing a better job of screening his calls.  He’s one of those people who leave work at work.  And I don’t blame him a bit, because he’s so busy at work that his personal time is, well, personal time.  I guess that he took my call means we really are buddies now.

Anyway, I called because I finally got an appointment with the president of a local museum.  He and I are working on a project to get an artifact moved, and I’ve been spearheading the efforts to get it placed to a more appropriate site.  I told him that I’d sent over some goodies to cultivate a relationship with the museum already, and he told me that it was nice of me to do that.

“Well, that’s my job, isn’t it?  Getting people to give me what I want.”

He thought that was funny.

So we went back and forth on a good time for both of us to have this meeting with the guy.  After we hung up, I realized I’d be out of town the day we’d agreed upon.  I’m certainly living up to the “blonde” part, huh?

So, I head over to Target. As I’ve cashed out, I go to leave and this man with full-sleeve tattoos at the register in front of mine turns to me and says, “Oh, I’m sorry, Ma’am.  Did I jump in front of you?”

“No, I’m done,” I tell him as I’m pushing my cart passed him, “But you should be telling me you’re sorry for calling me ma’am.”

I’m standing at the elevator when he comes up to me a few minutes later, “Hope you have a great day, Beautiful.”

Nice try.

I get home and pop on the TV.  “How to Marry a Millionaire” is on.  I eat some lunch and sit down to watch the movie.  I loved this movie when I saw it as a child.  I had a girl-crush on Marilyn Monroe and went through this period when I watched every single movie she’d ever been in.

Three beautiful women looking for Mr. Rich instead of Mr. Right.  Do women do this anymore?  I wonder if they do.  I don’t really understand that kind of thinking, though.  Relationships are work.  Taking someone into your life is a responsibility whether they have resources or not.  It’s a partnership.  And once you’ve attached yourself to them, well, that’s it.  If the resources ever dwindle and the beauty fades, there’d better be some love left to get you through.

At the end of the movie when the Lauren Bacall character chooses the poor guy only to find he’s really wealthy.  I love that. And expensive looking blondes fall in love with regular guys all the time.

As a matter of fact, I prefer them.

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