I underwent a transformation a couple of weeks ago. I took my limp, shoulder length, dishwater blonde hair and changed it into something new. Cut, color, everything. I was a new me. I went over to show my friends and got rave reviews. And one review that was strange.
"Yeah, I like it," my male neighbor said. "You look like a sexy, Russian spy."
Um... thanks? I think.
Me. A sexy. Russian. Spy. I've been called many things before in my life but sexy, Russian spy was definitely a first. I went to a close friend with this information. "Does my hair say sexy, Russian spy?"
"Yeah," she said. "I can see that."
"What about it says sexy, Russian spy?" I ask.
"The bangs. Definitely the bangs."
Funny. I thought bangs said things like I'm stuck in the 80's or I'm 36 going on 11. But never Eastern Block counterintelligence seductress.
I thought about this idea for awhile. And then I started to like the idea. I thought I would try it on.
Well? What do you think? Do I look remotely sexy? Forget about that. Do I look remotely Russian? After looking at the picture I decided I didn't look like either. All I saw was a girl looking like she was trying out for Charlie's Angels (that is supposed to be a fake gun in my hand, so realistic).
But if I was going to be a Russian spy (let's just drop the sexy, it's never going to happen, at least not while I've had four kids), I would have to come up with an alias. Something like Svetlana or Natasha. And I would talk like this "Heel-o, my nyame is Nyatasha."
What kind of spy would I be? Would I be like James Bond all martinis and seduction? Probably not because we already dropped the sexy part. Maybe Ethan Hunt? No, because he is part of a team. I work alone. How about Jason Bourne? Yeah, I could do that. I love the idea of secret safe deposit boxes full of money and different identities. I would kick butt first and ask questions later. I would speak six languages (one of course would be Russian). I would know how to jump off buildings into windows across alleys. I would have a gun on my hip and a secret knife strapped to my leg. I would be able to disarm a man with my pointer finger. You can tell I've thought about this. A lot.
Anyway. I'm not a spy. I'm not Russian. And with the amount of time I spend in mismatched pajamas I'm surely not sexy. It was fun to pretend for awhile. And if I ever get bored with my life I'll just go to the hairstylist and say "Geeve me zhe sexy, Russian spy look."