The Land of Hairdressers.

 When I was just a little boy, sometimes my mom would take me on a bus to the city. We would stay in the downtown area while she ran errands. Mom loved the city, all my life she lamented about moving back to the country after marrying my father. One errand was to get her hair done. Yesterday's post was about getting a haircut and it reminded me of an innocent question I had for mom one evening after her hair appointment. She liked to get pampered as well, she would always go to some of the nicer salons.

 I was a very good kid, I would sit quiet until she finished. I hated going there however and not just because it was boring. I noticed mostly men worked there, few women. These men were not like the barbers where my dad and I got our hair cut, I found them annoying. They would go on and on about how they absolutely loved my red hair, how they would just die to have my colour, how "gorgeous" it looked. I found them slimy to be honest, like over friendly cats.

 Later one night after we got home, I asked mom where do most hairdressers come from. Living in the country I noticed strange accents right away. She said that she didn't understand my question, that they grew up in Canada. I asked if that's true, then why do they all talk "that way". She still didn't get it but my dad did. I said they must come from somewhere because they talk funny and they all sound the same, "oh thay Theven you are jussst thimply the thweetest little boy ever and I thimply jussst love your red curlsss". Dad looked at mom with a smirk, mom was smirking too, I had no clue why but I knew it was one of those times when parents pretend not to know an answer when they actually do. I let it drop because I knew I was getting nowhere.

  Ironically now I know what language they were speaking and I am fluent in it as well. Out of the mouths of children, my baby gaydar could detect a gay man before I even knew what a gay man even was! Not bad for a little kid who just had his first homophobic moment, lol.