Seven hours in a salon and he doesn’t notice?
I attended French classes for three years at university as part of my undergraduate course. Before then, I had never been to a French class, so attempting to learn the language at tertiary level was deemed unserious by career guidance counsellors. I am afraid they were right because even if I passed all my exams without retaking a single paper, I can hardly speak or write French, except for the basic pleasantries. I, however, mastered the accent. I can read out loud a novel written in French without knowledge of what the words mean, but with the right diction and accent and it sounds good. The resonance of French words is pleasant to the ear. No wonder if you whispered French nothings in someone’s ears, it brings on an unexplainable high that not even cookies laced with marijuana can achieve (Not that I have tasted the infamous pastries).
The sound of words or even their meaning when chosen wisely and spoken in the right tone at the right time can make miracles happen. Once, a man I am in no way attracted to, because he talks too much and half of the time I have no idea what he is going on about, complimented my hair style. His choice of words is, to date, the most amazing I have ever heard. When he said those words, I was transported to a place of awe. For a week, every time I replayed his words, I would be blown right back to that place of awesomeness. Unfortunately, I cannot say what the words were, lest he reads this and realises the effect he had on me.
If we knew the power of words, especially compliments, the world would be a much nicer place to live. Guys, when a woman goes to the salon, she spends close to seven hours with two or three people tagging and pulling at her head in the name of plaiting braids to look like that braided Mowhawk she sees in movies. On another day, she sits under a hair dryer heated as high as 120 degrees after her hair has been cooked with chemical tough enough to burn the skin. She also endures another two hours having her nails cut and painted and in the process gets cut by the careless pedicurist. Why, after all this pain, does she get home, and all she gets is: “By the way, yesterday’s beans were half cooked.” This coming from her loving husband, a man who is intended to be her main audience for all the struggle to look nice.
She waits for another three hours, hoping he will comment on her new hairdo and pretty nails and when she hands him his plate of well-cooked beans, she makes sure the nails are in full view, but still, he says nothing.
Funny though that when she goes to work the next day, everyone seems to notice her hair and nails; How good she looks, the new hair compliments her eyes and makes her look younger, sexier, and feminine. All this in comparison to her husband’s lone sentence about beans.
So, dear husband, when your wife makes the effort to look nice, acknowledge her with well-deserved compliments, notice when she wears a new dress, or be a master of words. I am not talking about flattery and using corny, cheesy lines, but words that have the same effect as whispers in French gibberish. Otherwise, while you sit there complaining about beans, another man somewhere is busy rocking your wife’s world with some smooth lines.
