Page 12 of Dear Pink

“One section? Is it strange to dye a single clump of hair?”

She gathers another bunch and frowns. “No, one piece is better.” Her heavy perfume makes my nose itch.

“Okay. Let’s do it.”

“Really? The cut and the color?” Gretchen grins like a child picking out her favorite flavors of ice cream.

“Yes,” I clap, her delight contagious.

Giddy, Gretchen bounces on her thin high heels, and I cringe, hoping her boobs don’t fall out of her blouse.

“No woman ever cuts off her hair unless she’s suffered a breakup. Are you heartsick, honey?”

“I am, but this isn’t about a man. While you cut, I’ll tell you about my best friend Libby.”

***

When I walk out of the salon, I look and feel like a different person. Gretchen, my new friend and makeover co-conspirator, follows me to the sidewalk. “Go straight to Retro Rags down the street,” she says. “I’m texting Tina, so she’ll be expecting you.”

“Okay. I will. Thank you again. I love my hair.” I spin around for her, showing off my super cute cut.

“New hair. New lease on life.” She leans over and gives me a tight hug. “I’m so proud of you for taking the leap. Libby would love it too. I’m sure of it.”

Gretchen hit the mark. Libby would dance in the streets over this style change. I smile while I walk the second block to the vintage clothing store.

Opening the door at Retro Rags, a woman slightly older than I runs from behind the cash register. Wearing a cherry printed blazer over a sheer blouse and a polka-dotted pleated skirt, she’s the main character in my fashion dreams.

“Gretchen texted. You must be Hannah. I love your hair.” She stops short in front of me, taking inventory of what I’m wearing: flip-flops, a white T-shirt, and my favorite capri joggers with worn spots on the knees. “We have urgent work to do,” she says, dragging me deeper into the store.

“Uhh.”

“No worries. I’m here to help you rediscover your fashion sense.”

The truth stings. I used to mix and match prints with ease. I let myself go after Bugger-Jack destroyed my heart.

“Let’s start with proper lingerie. Perhaps a bra to enhance your shape? At this moment, you’re sporting a serious uni-boob.”

I check out my breasts and frown. “But I love my sports bra.”

“Sweetie, we all do, but there’s a time and a place. You want to go places without squished boobs, right?”

Ugh. Not really.

“Right?” she repeats with a frown.

“Yes?” I ask, uncertain of her expectations. If this is a movie montage, I’m the clueless lead. Tina peers at me with curiosity.

“Take a walk around the store. Choose clothes that interest you. I’ll grab a few items as well. How professional do you dress during the day? A business suit?”

“Oh no, I work in the basement at a publishing firm. Business casual is the norm. I stick with black slacks and a thick cardigan sweater.”

Tina’s frown widens. “Let’s elevate your current style a bit. You don’t want to be in the cold basement forever.”

She walks to the back, and I flip through the display racks. The store’s badass. They have a team of local designers on staff who take old clothes and turn them into new threads. It's fashion rehab. Just what I need.

Tina’s words ring in my ear. “You don’t want to be in the basement forever.” No, I don’t want to be in the basement at all. I want to be illustrating, not editing someone else’s illustrated work. Sigh. At least I work at a publishing firm. That’s dream-job-adjacent, right? My pep talk is low on pep and high on delusion.

Who am I kidding? I hate my job.

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