Sexual Diamorphisism in New England

Apparently I have become “ambiguous”.

Not in the vague sort of way, that my friends is an epidemic that has raged for years in my life. However my talent for hazing the lines in people’s minds seems to have extended to a broad scope.

I recently walked into a hair salon to purchase some pomade for my journey across the world. Not anything too frou-frou. I found a nice earth-tone bottle with some dark trim… I mean uh… a blackish brown one with masculine stuff in it. Right, regardless I had planned on getting a trim when the stylist rushes up from behind her chair and exclaims in a voice reminiscent of Fran Dresher of “The Nanny” explains to me that “something mus’ be done wit that hair!” I’m a sucker… so I agreed.

It was amazing. I don’t even know what they cut my hair with but upon clapping her hands a team of gorgeous women came out of the Grecian arches in back and proceeded to wash my hair with a laundry list of herbal products that you probably couldn’t buy on the legal market. I was then led to the single most comfortable surface I have ever known, provided with tea, and attended to by this throng of Valkaries.

So you state, “Chris, you are a bastard… followed by, I don’t get the problem.” I admit to the causal observer this is indeed not an issue, but upon leaving (or rather being cleaved from my palace of pleasure, not unlike Sir Gawain being ripped from the Castle of Temptation) I went to the counter to pay (mind you with a significant discount because the stylist “jus’ loved my hair!”) the girl at the counter said she had to go retrieve something. Just then the boy whose job it was to sweep hair in the corner comes up to me and brazenly hands me his number. With a wink and the promise to be off by ten he left me standing there wondering where I had miscommunicated my intentions. As if in answer to the very question the girl at the counter returns with a slip of paper and a proposal to meet me later tonight. I stood unsure of what to say or do for a time… wondering how my life had come to this. At what point did the lines of my sexual persuasion become so murky that everyone found the need to proposition me?

I made my way back to campus and pondered my new plight. After destroying both numbers I decided to adapt my appearance to resemble that of my long held idol’s, Captain Jacobsen of the North. Somehow it has proven thus far ineffective.