You're Not One of Those Fags Who Gets Fancy Haircuts...

...hell, you're so cheap you'd probably buy a Flowbie. On eBay, no less. But you are very happy with your $14 haircuts at the Neighborhood Barbers. Unfortunately, it's neither in your neighborhood, nor anywhere close to it. Although you are cheap, you're not actually insane and you wouldn't trust your 'do with just anyone who has a pair of scissors. But you are definitely willing to commute for an exceptional barber who is exceptionally cheap and was written up in the New York Times Style Magazine for cutting John Bartlett, Narcisco Rodriguez and David LaChappelle's famous heads. If Eric Scissorhands is good enough for them, then he's good enough for you. However, never in a million years would you have ever assumed that you'd offer up your gay locks to be coiffed by some straight barber. But stranger things have happened. Anyway.

Although you're usually rather happy with his cuts, today Eric Scissorhands does an exceptional job, and afterwards, even though it's raining, you find yourself floating up First Avenue on your way to work. For some reason you're in an excellent mood, and you're not sure why, because typically you are the type of guy who keeps his eye on the sidewalk rather than on the eyes of those strangers sharing it with you, but for some reason, even though he is huddled beneath a sea of black umbrellas, you look up and lock eyes. Although he looks completely different--he is wearing glasses and has a clean-shaved face--you can't help but recognize the new and improved mug of the boy you fell in love with earlier this year. The boy who subsequently broke your heart. The boy you call Blonde Beard.

You instinctively smile. He does not. And then you wait for your heart to drop and be replaced with butterflies, moths, and bats. Oh my! But none of these critters bother to show up to give you a bout of gay ageda. You're a bit shocked by your lack of reaction, actually. Are you over him? And if you are, then why are you still thinking him five months after your three month relationship ended? You've even thought about contacting him lately. But now the gay gods have dropped Blonde Beard right into your lap. Almost like a rain drop. However, all of this crap races through your head in less than a nanosecond, and as he approaches you say, "Hey." Kind of just like that. No exclamation point. No question mark. Just a simple period that you punctuate with a hearfelt smile. Blonde Beard says, "Hey," looks away, and attempts to continue his Mary way down First Avenue.

You are in such shock that you literally stop in your footsteps and turn toward him as he attempts to make his gay getaway. Then you say, pointedly, "How are you?" in a manner that commands him to stop and acknowledge the simple moment that he has just made exponentially more awkward than it ever had to be. Blonde Beard says, "Good." But then he literally turns away from you and begins to walk away. Although you are literally dying inside, you make one last attempt to normalize this de-humanizing encounter, and you call after him, "What are you up to?" For the first time you notice that Blonde Beard is standing next to a woman who is almost as visibly confused by the bizarre situation as you are, and Blonde Beard informs you, "Just going to lunch with my co-worker. How about you?" Although you are happy to have finally received a question from this man you were in love with, your mouth answers with a simple, "Just headed to work," even though the expression on your face says, "Do you really hate me so much that you can't bear to cobble together an entire sentence for me?" And with that, Blonde Beard just turns around and walks away.

You just stand there. You actually laugh aloud, but not because you think the situation is at all funny. Your jaw is agape. You are wounded. The only thing in tact at this point is your hair. At least your hair looked good. You'll always have that. Anyway...