Ms. Writes:
My hairdresser is a flamboyant French man, who is – oddly – very straight. Raphael has been my hairdresser for nearly three years and he has been flirting with me for nearly as long. He doesn’t know about Miss. One reason he doesn’t know is because for a time, I was in a relationship with – yes – a man. When the man and I broke up, Raphael, dear that he is, poured me a glass of wine, said “love steenks,” and magically granted me a great set of highlights/lowlights that saw me through the pain. Ever since then, when I sit in the chair Raphael’s questions go right for the boys. “Are zere any boys in your life?”
I was planning to go back to see Raphael the other day. I haven’t seen him since Miss came into my life, and I knew the inevitable question about boys would present itself. I’m not sure why I never wanted to blurt out, “oh, I actually like girls better,” but it’s just – an odd thing to say. I’ve been casually dating girls during some of my visits to Raphael, but I had not been serious with any of them, like I am with Miss, so I never felt the need to disclose my bedroom habits to the guy who does great hair. But this is different. I’m in love now. I’m making future plans. I can’t hide this fact from the man who gave me an 8pm appointment and let me cry while he foiled. I realized it was time for the reveal.
Plenty of lesbians are better at this than me. They’ll wear T-shirts, they’ll shout it on Santa Monica Boulevard, they’ll skywrite it if you give them the chance. “I SLEEP WITH WOMEN!” I do admire that and it’s not like I don’t tell people if they ask - in fact, I’m very proud of Miss. She’s beautiful. However, to go there with a casual “By the way, I’m sleeping with a girl,” feels as weird to me as suddenly revealing that I’m wearing an old, ratty bra today because it’s just so damn comfy.
It came time for the appointment, and sure enough, after a good half-hour of general catch-up, the question hit: “So… eez zere a man?” I paused, looked at the reflection of the frenchman and calmly said. “Nope. No man.” He pursed his lips, nodded and continued to splat goo on my roots. I could have left it there. He wasn’t digging and I was safe – but I didn’t want to. I was ready to skywrite it. I’m in love with Miss. I can’t deny it. So… I decided to give it a go. “There is no man, Raphael. That’s for sure.” “Zat eez too bad,” he said. “Not really,” I offered. “There is someone in my life that I’m very much in love with.” Raphael stopped what he was doing and looked at me quizzically in the mirror. “I’m living with a woman.” He blinked. “I’m in a relationship with a girl.” I’m not sure how he did it, but he managed to drop his jaw and curl his lips into a smile simultaneously. “Ahhhhh! A girl?,” he questioned. “Yep,” I grinned. “Are you happy?” he asked. “More than I’ve ever been,” I admitted.
What was cool about the whole thing, is that Raphael dug it. And not in a creepy way; in a way that was just ultra casual. Of course – he IS a hairdresser… and he’s French. All right, so maybe I’m not as brave as I thought.
xoxo,
~ Ms.
