Dear Alice,
Everyone who knows me, knows two things...1)I’m really tall and 2) I’m not exactly straight. In all honestly when you have the word bisexual tattooed on your arm, you’re really not trying to hide it.
But there’s one person that i just can’t seem to come out to...
No it’s not my mum, she’s not thrilled, but she knows. My neices and nephews know, they actually use me for dating advice. My directors know...well, after I’ve finished my final scene that is. The one person i can’t come out to is...my barber. Yes, the man who cuts my hair.
Ya see, my barber is a true RASTAFARIAN! Long dreds, full bushy unkept beard, and he always smells of ganja. Hard core Jamaican straight out of the bush. Despite his unkept appearence, the man makes me look FLAWLESS! He is a maestro of hair, a picasso when it comes to a cut. When i look good, he’s 85% of the reason. Unfortunately he is the biggest chauvanist, racist, and homophobe I’ve ever meant. He firmly believes that the white man is out to kill every person of color, ALL women are whores, and that gays are the devil!
When I’m there, I say as little as possible, slouch in my chair, never cross my legs, when a song i fancy comes on the radio I bop my head Up and Down, thug style, and don’t shake my shoulders butch-queen style. I never show my flashy phone (made exclusively by Swarovski, just for me) and all of my girly ringtones are set to vibrate. i don’t need this dude mucking up my hair on purpose.
while i was getting my haircut today, a news story come on the telly, about a man being pregnant. Well my barber quickly launched into his tirade, this time, the target was the gays. "batty boy" this and "bumbooclat" that. As he went off, i just sat there slightly quivering, failing to make eye contact hoping none of the other barbers or thug homies would catch on to my queerness.
Normally when some git goes mad, and attacks my sexuality, i firmly put them in their place, but bloody hell he was only 3 quarters done with my hair, and a bitch need to look good this weekend!! So I sat there...perfectly still, sort of like a mouse in a cage with a boa constrictor.
and lo and behold, when he was done with his tirade, AND my haircut...I looked marvelous! So which is more important, looking good, or standing up for who I am...?
are you stupid?! I’m a celebrity. He could stab my grandmother, call her a nigger-spic and kick her dog...as long as he keeps me looking good, I don’t give a shit!
Sincerely,
The Afro Glamurai
No comments:
Post a Comment