And while it suited me as a girl of 29, now that I've entered my 30s, I'll admit it: I actually want to find a nice doctor to settle down with. (I love an all-female environment when it comes to my salons — blame Steel Magnolias.)In the flesh, Eva is one of the most glamorous-as-she-is-brilliant women I've met.
A mere glance at my Facebook wall reveals that all my friends in new relationships are blonde, and all the engaged-to-be-marrieds just happen to be brunette. Imagine Catherine Zeta-Jones wielding scissors with surgical precision and mixing color like Vermeer.
Until my male friend brought it up, I never considered the fact that my hair could be partly to blame."Red hair is usually a handicap, as far as I'm concerned," my divorced and dating friend Adam tells me over brunch.
"I mean, for you it's some kind of fashion statement or whatever, but to most guys it says that you're wild and ...
Do you know how difficult this color is to maintain?
Within two weeks there's more bright sienna on my towels than on my head, and the whole effect is muted considerably.
And while maintenance may be cheaply and easily acquired (thanks, Garnier Hot Tamale), finding a man who can commit is not.
I live in New York City, which has a surplus of 200,000 single women to available men, and I have a history of attracting musicians on tour, homeless artists, polyamorist DJs, and, well, you get the picture.