Bad Joo just ran into her stylist in the lobby of her building. Now, I'm sure that for most people this would have been a pleasant diversion in an otherwise dreary winter day. Not so for this Joo. Among her many other shortcomings, the Bad Joo cannot do her own hair, which, as frequent Internettes will know is currently all kinds of hideous . http://youlllearntokeephouse.blogspot.com/2008/12/color-joo-badd.html
So you can imagine the pep talk it takes this Joo to make an appearance at her regular salon, den of her regular faboo gay. There is much primping, prepping, and pep talking. And when that day comes, there is much denigration. "I know I'm not worthy", the Joo says to him. He is kind, this stylist. He is charitable. He puts her at ease, and the event is a pleasant one (unlike the Color Joo Badd).
He is the epitome of the stylist. He is perfectly coiffed, scented, and dressed. So, imagine the Bad Joo's self-loathing when she spied him standing in a classic department store underwear model pose speaking with an even more stylish and perfect companion this morning. She was unprepared! She was not coiffed, not well-dressed, not stylish! Still, ever the gracious man doll, he folded her into a hug, at which point
She hugged him back awkwardly in a pose reminiscent of a conjoined twin (you know, the ugly one that will eventually shrivel up, die, and be remembered in some TLC nightmare show), smiled, then said in a squeaky voice, "Don't touch me. I'm dirty." and ran away, which was, of course, the mature and cosmopolitan thing to do (shame, putrefaction).
Any thoughts on whether the BJ should attempt to explain herself in the future or just resign herself to a life of more bad haircuts would be appreciated.
Bad Joo. Bad.