Alexas works in the fashion industry, and although she is anything but a high-maintenance woman, clothes and hairstyle count for a lot, so she likes to look good when she goes to work.

Which is where I come in, or should I say Mr. Christopher? Mr. Christopher is another personality inside me. I have no control over him. All I know is that he hails from some Eastern European country, speaks with an accent that resembles a cross between French and German, and is sexually ambiguous.

I have a sense that Mr. Christopher is mostly heterosexual, but with the amount of time he spends around women, deep conditioning treatments, and glossifiers, his feminine qualities can't help rising to the surface.

Anyway, it is in the character of Mr. Christopher that I help my wife style her hair. Let me note here that Alexas's hair is remarkably thick and curly, and because at the moment she prefers her hair straight, we have to "blow it out."

For those of you unfamiliar with stylist vernacular, a blowout begins with a thorough hair washing. At home we use the kitchen sink, where I can really massage her scalp and run my fingers through the wet locks. After a long, warm rinse, I work in conditioner with a thick comb and wring out the excess water.

Anytime I'm doing this, I think of Warren Beatty in Shampoo. I've often wondered what it would be like to work in a salon like Elizabeth Arden on Fifth Avenue in Manhattan, catering to beautiful, rich women who slip you hundred dollar tips and pat you on the tush for a job well done. I bet it's a pretty good life, but you probably have to really like two things: hair and insipid conversation.

I do like hair. Five years ago or so, back when Alexas and I were poor, I regularly cut her hair to save us money. She insisted then, and still does, that my handiwork was quite good; however, I have noticed that now that we have a  bit more disposable income, she isn't as eager to have Mr. Christopher come out to work.

Back to the blowout. With the conditioning treatment finished, we move into the bathroom, where Alexas clips her hair into small, manageable sections and Mr. Christopher takes up a large, round brush and a hairdryer. The hairdryer is set on LOW and has a rake-like "hair straightening" attachment mounted to the front. From there it is simply a matter of running the brush through the hair with the dryer and its straightening rake pressing down firmly on the taut hair.

After, oh, five, six hundred passes, hair that was once as curly as Annie's and as unruly as a classroom of first graders begins to take shape. If Mr. Christopher has done things right, the hair becomes soft and glossy, like the coat of a freshly brushed thoroughbred, and he receives a kiss from Miss Alexas. Sometimes he gets a crisp Ben Franklin (although, given the economy, this is rare) and a pat on the ass. He likes that.

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