Hairy mornings in NYC

This morning, I found myself at the hub of NYC activity - Herald Square - readying myself for a voyage to New Jersey.

As I skipped throughout Penn Station en route to my train, a stranger called out to me.

“Would it offend you if I asked you a question?”

Generally, that question will prepare me to be offended, as well as pique my curiosity.

“Ok…”

“Is your hair natural? I’ve been trying to get it blonde myself and i wanted to know how to get your color…”

I told her I was not offended, but that, yes, my hair was natural.

She continued to stand there. I, who had a train to catch, suddenly found myself volunteering hair advice, despite myself.

She nodded, silently, and then began to cry. I was confused…being a blond isn’t THAT meaningful!

“Can I ask you a question?”

Here we go again. Maybe she needs fashion advice too. (She actually could have used some.)

“I was stranded here, earlier today…by a date!” She starts to cry, harder. I sigh. “I have no money to get home! Do you think you could help me?”

I was prepared to give her the starving writer talk, but gave consideration to the time constraints and didn’t bother. “Sorry! Have a train to catch!”

I scurried along, and felt her staring after me.

I am all for helping my fellow man, don’t get me wrong. But, seriously, if she was REALLY stranded and destitute…would she have stopped to chat about low-lights first?

Then again….