August 19, 2016“Are you aware that “Blondes have more fun,” was the phrase concocted by the cunts at Clairol? Little did the hair-dying sages at the celestial strand headquarters know, that prostitutes in Rome were obligated by law to dye their locks blonde to separate themselves from honorable Roman brunettes with a blonde wig. It was common knowledge that blonde was the hair color of Barbarians to the North and slaves of that race of people often came to an end in whorehouses.”
“Do I know you?”
“No, but you might wish you never had in a minute or two.”
“Oh, yea,” she said with a smile and then took a small sip of her drink in the back of a urine-stenched bar. “Tell me more, big shot.”
“Well, historians of moralistic disposition have had the pleasure of painting wealthy Roman women of the period as emulating the whores by dying their hair to match the golden mane of money-seeking maenads.”
“This is the part where I should slap you, don’t you think?”
“No woman with any real dignity comes to a dive like this, dear. Let us not feign class tonight.”
“Okay, asshole. I’m in. What else?”
“Circa 45 A.D., Messalina, the wife of Claudius the Emperor, was implicated of tip-toeing out of the palace’s walls to hustle without bustle at an unseemly bordello. She was believed to have been hiding her dark hair under a blonde wig to enter a house of ill repute muggy and filthy from old and crusty bedspreads.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“Is it? Do we not, all of us, do disgusting things from time to time?”
“I bet you say that to all the girls.”
“No.”
“No? Just the blonde ones?”
“Maybe just the interesting ones.”
“Why, thank you.”
“For what?”
“Don’t you think I’m interesting?” she said glaring at him with her blue eyes and biting the cheap, red lipstick from her lower lip.
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“Does this shit work on women? Be honest with me.”
“Sometimes.”
“Jesus. I don’t see how.”
“Neither do I.”
“You’re a real gentleman, you know that? Well, now I want to hear the rest.”
“Are you sure, Goldilocks?”
“Sure I’m sure. When in Rome, right?”
“I suppose. The early Christian Farcers were vehement at the vanity and implied iniquity in blonde hair. The tosser Tertullian wrote, “I see broads dye their damn hair blonde by using saffron. They are ashamed of their country, sorry that they were not born in Germany or Gaul!”
“What?! Is that true?”
“He said the same of wigs: “Be ashamed of yak yak yak putting on your holy and Christian head the cast-off hair of some stranger who was perhaps unclean, perhaps guilty and destined to hell.”
“Ha, ha, ha. You are too much! That’s it, you’re getting laid.”
“Umm…thanks.”
“Wait, you’re gonna have to buy me another drink first.”
“A drink?”
“Maybe two.”
“I’ll be hungry by the time we get out of here.”
“Then dinner also.”
∞
