Zeni is having a conversation with her hairdresser, Harvey. He starts by saying:
“Oh, my God! Why didn’t I think of this before? I know the perfect man for you. His name is Alfie.”
“Alfie? Now that’s a name you don’t hear very often. Is he straight?”
“Yes, he’s straight, never swung to the other side; at least, not to my knowledge anyway. He’s quite a catch.”
“Okay, my interest is piqued. Tell me more about him.”
“Let me put it this way. If I were straight, I’d be all over him. He’s deliciously fine,” Harvey said as he started cutting my hair.
“Can you be a teensy-weensy bit more specific, like does he have a large wart growing in the middle of his forehead?”
“Girl, you crack me up. You know I have better taste than that. Alfie’s totally hot. He’s successful, physically fit, well-traveled, intelligent . . . ,” Harvey replied as my mind wandered to visions of this fine specimen.
Then, without warning, the guillotine came down, cutting my fairy-tale vision swiftly in half.