In reference to That Area…

Posted on January 20, 2006

16


Yesterday I went and dyed my hair back to my preferred burgundy shade, although once the $95 was gone, there were plenty of people who popped up to tell me the Beyoncesque hair was better. In fact, once she had pocketed the funds the sylist herself confided that she had liked the brown/blonde dealie a lot. I’m bitter.
Anyway, I hate talking to people who are doing my hair. I like to bury my nose in my novel, move my head at their command, and emerge resplendent. As usual I wasn’t given the chance to do so. A round Dominican woman with bleached blonde hair was doing my hair, and she knew just how to get me to talk.
“Oh my God, I love your curls!” Bingo.
“All Arab girls have curly hair,” I said deprecatingly, only it came out sounding like I was doing a regional boast of some sort. The stylist next to us, who was an Arab girl with hair indeed identical to mine, perked up. “What kind of Arab are you, habibti?”
“Egyptian.”
“Oh, I have an Egyptian friend,” the black one said. “He’s 23 and he’s a mechanic,” (elitist mental shudder). “He recently broke up with his girlfriend because she was Muslim and he’s Christian or something.”
“Yeah, that’s happened to me before.” I said, in an attempt to be polite. The conversation went in a most unpleasant direction from there. “You know,” she lowered her voice modestly, “because she had to stay a virgin they could only do it up the ass.”
“Yeah, that happens a lot with Arabs, ” I said, figuring I might as well contribute.
The other girl edged closer. “Gross! Why would anyone do that!”
“Well,” I said, feeling grimy. “I have a lot of friends who say they really enjoy it.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard you get the best orgasms that way,” said the Dominican one.
“Wow, I’m really missing out in my sex life!” the Arab girl said.
“Although a guy once told me never to let anybody do me up the ass because I would break a bone and then I wouldn’t be able to control my shit and it would just fall out!” chortled Round confidingly.
“There’s no bone in there,” I said. “Maybe the sphincter?”
At this point they had to go do other things, thankfully. This is not the sort of conversation I like to have with complete strangers -at least not without the benefit of alcohol.
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