Yesterday I decided to get my hair blown out and straightened (not the smartest decision considering its raining today, but whatever.) The woman who does my hair moved to a unisex hair salon in Harlem, so I made my way over to see her.
It was a Sunday and the place was more or less empty. I was on one end of the salon getting my hair done and on the other end a barber stood by watching another barber cut his clients hair. I didn’t pay much attention to them until I needed to go to the ladies room.
I had to walk between the three men in order to get the the bathroom. As I approached them, I became slightly self conscious because the back of my hair was bone straight, while the front was a curly mess on the top of my head. “Excuse me,” I said as I slipped between the two barbers. “No problem, darling…” one of them said giving me a grin.
When I emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later and had to slip past them again. The men went completely silent and I could feel three sets of eyes on me. Even the guy getting his hair cut, who had his back to me, found a way to check me out in the mirrors reflection. Then one of the men said something that I couldn’t hear and the other two grunted in agreement, “…see you’re my kinda dude,” one of the barbers said. “I was thinking the same damn thing!”
Making my way back to my chair, I wanted so badly to know what was said, since it obviously pertained to me. Were they talking about my unruly hair? Or perhaps something else… Although I couldn’t see who was saying what, I kept my ears peeled as they continued to talk on the other side of the room. As the conversation swelled I heard things like:
“Mmm a big woman, that’s me right there. I really don’t like them skinny. Not super fat either. But Big? That’s sexy”
“I dated a big girl once… she was big but real pretty” I bet her $100 she couldn’t lose 20 pounds in a month. She said she could, but then she