February 25, 2008
I got my hair cut a few days ago...by a female impersonator...who specializes in Celine Dionne, Belle from Beauty and the Beast, and Barbie on roller skates.
He wasn't dressed like a woman while he cut my hair. After all, this is the off season and he prefers to save his shenanigans for the summer. In the wintertime he limits his fashion choices to insanely well fitting jeans, superbly fitted shirts, and a hair style that makes Justin Timberlake look frumpy and homeless.
I didn't know that Jonathan led a double life as a drag queen when I booked the appointment on my friend's recommendation, but if I had known, it certainly wouldn't have stopped me. If I can be totally honest, I kind of have a little bit of a "thing" for female impersonators. It's a learned appreciation that was gifted to me by my dear, sweet mother many years ago.
I have a vivid childhood memory of standing in line at the bank behind a very handsome couple dressed in floofy women's clothing. My mom gently tapped one of the gentlemen on the shoulder, and when he turned around she gingerly said, "I just have to tell you how much I love your stockings. They're really beautiful, and the details are just exquisite!" The shapely man thanked my mother, and in an instant he was strutting out of the store with a purse in one hand and a deposit slip in the other.
And thus it was born--my deep appreciation for the theatrical art of female impersonation. Strange, I know.
A few years ago, I had the fleeting idea that Jared might be entertained by drag queens, too. So in a momentary lapse of judgment I booked a babysitter, gathered a fun-loving group of friends, and attended what was in my opinion, a truly fantastic performance by three very lovely ladies. They sang Barbara Streisand songs, they danced to funky hip-hop beats, they jumped rope in platform heals, and unfortunately, one of the ladies grabbed my already shocked husband's head and forcefully nestled it into her faux, foam bosoms.
When she finally allowed Jared up for air, he looked at me with scathing eyes and sternly pronounced, "I am a Mormon boy from Pocatello, Idaho. If the shock of what just happened doesn't kill me dead, you better PROMISE to NEVER do ANYTHING like this EVER AGAIN!!!!" Then he clapped politely as Lil' Miss Sunny Buns showed the audience her frilly, purple bloomers.
As an offering of consolation, and in an effort to restore Jared's slightly damaged manhood, we watched nothing but Sylvester Stallone movies and ESPN for the next twelve weeks, and obviously we never spoke of the incident again.
The whole hairdresser being a drag queen thing just kind of came up in conversation. After all, this was my first appointment with Jonathan, and first appointment conversations tend to resemble first date conversations. Somewhere, in the middle of our idle chit chat it just came up, and in response I proceeded to ask the obvious questions:
Where do you buy high heel shoes in sizes so large? (From special mail order catalogs.)
Do you sew your own sparkles onto your dresses? (No, an elderly seamstress named Rose does that. She thinks she's making ice skating costumes.)
How do you achieve such strong, yet slender shoulders? (By using low weights and high repetitions.)
After Jonathan finished working with my hair (and I must say, he did an excellent job taming my furry madness), he politely asked if he could help me with anything else.
"Yes," I replied. "I'd like to schedule a haircut appointment for my husband."