I got my hair cut today. Children were chasing each other around the salon, tripping over the chairs. My mohawked fully tattooed stylist paused mid-chop, smiling divinely.
“Have any kids?” he asked. I get asked this a lot now. It’s weird.
“Uhh . . . well. That’s complicated.”
He shook his head. “Guys are just jerks,” he said. “There are so many beautiful women I see come in here, so many wonderful clients I have, and the guys are just assholes, you know? They don’t stick around. They need to grow up, see what they have right in front of them.”
“Oh,” I said. “No, no, it’s not like that.” We made eye contact in the mirror, his eyebrow raised. “I’m the jerk,” I said.