Women are almost always angry with men for one reason or another. It’s one of things you’ll have to get used to, as you get older. – David Eddings
I go to Muhammad & Sons, a black barber shop run by a Muslim who prays in the back room. Up front we listen to R&B crooners talk about getting down. Watch a lesbian get a fade.
Bennie just begun to sculpt round my cowlick and the door bursts open. Large lovely black woman red-faced starts in, seems there was a funeral and her husband got drunk and disrespected the deceased. Dissed everybody else, too.
She’s a tall angry female. Almost in my face and I am sitting. She starts quietly talking to Bennie about to shave my neck but who mercifully stopped as her voice grew louder and louder. Try to pretend I’m not listening. Trying to pretend I am not staring at her crotch. My head goes whichever way Bennie pushes it. Think pink yoga pants like I thought you weren’t supposed to wear in public. Probably should close my eyes.
Deep breath, then she is off again. Finally got tired looking at that pile of cans in the garage. Not guessing there were Mountain Dew, exactly what I am thinking. She smiles, like she done something wrong and got away with it. $14! Fourteen dollars. That’s what she got back for all the tin.
Twelve years and she is over it. Over it. More to marriage than paying the bills. There’s love. Love. LOVE. Luuuuvvvvv. I love you like a-fat-kid-loves-cake kind of love. She is kicking his ass to the curb. Over it.
Apologetic nod. Spins and walks out. Door slams. Oh, shit, Bennie says. There goes my couch. Beyonce is singing ‘Drunk In Love.’