I was discriminated against.
For having blonde hair.
The Untold Story.
Told now.
It’s like an E! True Hollywood story, except I’m not a celebrity and the E! channel doesn’t give a shit.
So a few weeks ago, my BFF sent me an email and suggested I submit a story/blog post for a live show in LA coming up in January. She’d been to the New York show and said the minute the first performer got on stage she thought of me and how I would totally rock it. Intrigued, I clicked the link and immediately knew it was something I would absolutely want to do. The performers recite a monologue or sing or act out something regarding motherhood. I’m a mother, right? I’ve got stories to share. I’m funny. I’m talented. I have full use of my phalanges. (I just wanted to say that word–it really has nothing to do with anything)
So I picked one of my
funniest stories, made sure it was grammatically correct and sent it in. And then I waited.
A good friend who also submitted a story received an email yesterday telling her she made it. She immediately contacted me and asked if I’d heard from them. Sadly, I hadn’t. Somehow right then, I knew I hadn’t been picked.
Still, I was hopeful.
OK, I totally wasn’t hopeful. I sunk into an immediate depression over it. Because that’s what completely ridiculous people do.
Today, I saw a message in my Inbox from the director/producer of the show. For a minute, I was elated. I’d made it after all! Yay me!!
Then, I read the second sentence. And at that point it was clear to me that I had *not* in fact made it. Because it stated so. But not in the regular *normal* way of telling you that you suck and aren’t invited to the party. No. Instead it said this.
Though your piece was not chosen I hope you know how much I appreciate your submission. Sometimes I just receive too many pieces on the same topic or I have too many blondes in the show.
I read that sentence. And then I read it again. And then I rubbed my eyes and read it a third time–you know, just to make sure I wasn’t seeing things. I looked at the clock. It was 10:30 in the morning, so I wasn’t drunk. The only explanation was that it really said what I thought it said.
So…as you can see, I was not picked to perform in the show because I have blonde hair. And now I totally know what it’s like to be African American. And we (me and all black people) are not going to take it anymore.
Just so you know.
That is all.
PS. I’m not even a natural blonde.
PPS. I only went blonde because I heard they had more fun.
PPPS. Turns out, they (we) do.
PPPPS. We just don’t get to perform in cool shows, cuz you know, there is such a thing as “too many blondes.”
PPPPPS. I’ve never done this many PSs before.
PPPPPPS. What were we talking about?
PPPPPPPS. Oh yeah, I shoulda been born a redhead.
PPPPPPPPS. Don’t ask me how many Hostess Ding Dongs I ate (4) to soothe the pain of rejection. In a cruel twist of fate I gained 2 pounds. Awesome.
