There is no greater relationship a gay man can have than with his hairdresser; unless of course he is bald. This morning I followed the rainbow and drove into the heart of the gay village to get my hair cut by my Scissor Ninja Kristoff.
Kristoff has been taking care of my red hair now for just over five years. The two of us met while playing gay softball one hot summer. At the time, I was in an abusive hair relationship with a gay stylist named Fabrizio. He was pretty much Edward Scissorhands on blow. Every time I went to see him I feared for my life as knives and razor blades flew in the air as he cut up all his life's tragedies.
As soon as Kristoff learned the gravity of my situation, he took me into his chair immediately. Even though I know my Scissor Ninja sees other people; I have been steadfast in my devotion to him and will continue to be throughout the years.
“You will never guess what happened to me last night!” I exclaimed to Kristoff, while taking a seat in his chair.
“What?” he asked, taking a sip from his coffee and then ruffling his hands through my hair.
“I fell in love!”
“Shut up gurl!”
The sky was blue and the birds were chirping outside the garage-door, disguised as a window, beside me. The sun shone down on Davie Street, and there I was, looking into the mirror and thinking to myself, I am the happiest gay in the village.
Drifting into my own reflection for a moment, I came back when I realized Kristoff was attacking me with a barrage of questions like Chinese throwing stars.
“Who is he?”
“Why didn’t you text me?”
“What does he look like?”
“Same cut as last time?”
I assured Kristoff I would tell him everything, and waited for him to turn off his razor before beginning the story.
“It all started last night when I went to buy a ticket to see the movie Brooklyn at Park Theatre. After spending the entire day lying flaccid on the couch, I knew I needed to end off the night on a more productive note.
After purchasing the ticket, I checked my phone and realized I had approximately nine minutes to grab a glass of wine. And so I walked in to the bar next door and ordered two.
Fifteen minutes and one delightful buzz later, I handed the debit machine back to the lovely bartender and picked my Michael Kors jacket up off the floor. Strutting towards the exit, I was just about to leave when the most beautiful sound pulled me back.
“There’s a saying old, says that love is blind…”
I stopped my hand on the door handle as the Gershwin lyrics floated like rose petals in the air.
I turned around to see that an entire jazz concert was set-up on the stage in front of the bar and I didn't even notice! Most likely becuase I had my head dug into Facebook and Instagram the entire time. Spot lit, there stood two musicians: a woman with her trumpet and a man with his electric guitar.
I looked down at the movie ticket in my right hand and back up to the stage. One verse later and I was back at my bar stool ordering a bottle of house red wine.
Oh Kristoff! I can’t even describe the magic I felt! The singer! Her voice! It was so much finer than the wine in my glass: rich, smoky and talk about a lasting finish. The falsetto of the trumpet! The bass of the guitar! How sensual it was every time they embraced with each toot and pluck. For the next two hours I sat there and for all I knew, I could have been in a jazz club in Montreal, New York City or Paris! The rain crashed down outside, the candle on each table burned bright, and I was in love.”
“Rugged, this all sounds great, but when does the man enter this love story?"
Kristoff unsnapped the robe from around my neck and stood patiently awaiting an answer.
“What man?” I asked.
Our eyes locked in the mirror, all four of them puzzled.
“I could have sworn you said you fell in love last night."
Kristoff gasped and reached for the blow dryer.
“OK. Well first of all put the blow dryer down," I reasoned with him, standing out of the chair my palms up in the air.
"Rugged," Kristoff said unarmed, "I have been cutting your hair for the last five years and not one of your love stories has ever included a man."
Extending my arms to give him a hug, I held my Scissor Ninja tight and whispered into his ears, "Minor detail my beloved friend. Whether or not a man enters the picture, I will always have plenty of someones to watch over me."
After we ended our embrace, I knelt down to pet the resident pug Rocko, paid the lady at the front counter and said goodbye to Kristoff.
“Thank you for the exquisite haircut!" I waived. "Now go enjoy your weekend in Palm Springs and I will see you next month!”
WAIT! Readers Stop! The beautiful singer at the bar! I must tell you! Her name is Anita Eccleston and you can listen to her too! Check out her music and support her at www.anitaeccelston.com.