A blonde walked into a bar

For the past 9 or so years, I’ve only ever dated blondes. One blonde, in fact. Bee.

We met the night after Christmas in a dirty underground bar. I was sweating and she was glowing.

She will deny that all the guys in the club were looking at her, but it’s true. With the way she moves, they still do.

She was wearing a striped dress and a brand new smile carefully crafted by a skilled orthodontist and when the lights in the club dipped, she shone brighter than any light.

When I think of myself back then, aged twenty, I don’t remember myself being the kind of guy who would talk up to a girl and say “are you going to keep teasing me, or are we going to dance?” but something about Bee that night had me acting like a madman.

And I’ve been acting like one ever since. And she’s been blonde the whole time.

Until last month when she told her hairdresser she wanted to get as close to her natural brown as she could.

And he did a bloody good job. And now I’m married to a brunette. And she has never looked so beautiful.

Before, Bee would get her hair done and walk out of the salon feeling amazing! Then, two weeks later, the regrowth would start to show and the next 2-4 weeks would be a countdown until the next appointment with the last ten or so days spent cursing regrowth and blonde hair and colour damage and split ends.

Each visit took 3 hours and cost £120+.

Now, we are talking about a quick cut and less than £50. I get to look at my wife and see the woman she was born to be. She gets to spend more time being her authentic self. And we get to spend or save that money in other ways.

We’ve reduced our yearly COL by $1,554 AUD, allowing us to rejig our FI numbers and date and that’s a win in my books.

I will say, it felt a bit weird waking up with a brunette in my bed that next morning, but as soon as I saw that morning smile – every light in the world could’ve dimmed and I would’ve still been blinded.

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