I join the gym and would like to go swimming. Before I can go, I need to be bikini ready, so I pop to my local hair and beauty salon.
I am drawn in the gay friendly rainbow in the doorway; can’t go anywhere that wouldn’t serve my sister if she visited. I quickly realise that there are only two guys working there. This could be tricky for what I need. “Are there any girls who work here?” I ask in Spanish.
“OK. I need a wax and I’d prefer a girl,” I hesitate.
‘No girls work here, but I was,” the young guy attempts in English. I was? A diamond earring in each ear and pristine eyebrows. Definitely gay, but surely not transgender?
“You? You were a woman?” I have to ask. I HAVE to ask.
“No, no, I wass! I make the wass!”
Riiiiiiiiiiiiight! “You do the wax? Vale, ok, bien!” He does the waxing. He didn’t use to be a woman. Well, you never know. Madrid is pretty open-minded for a Catholic capital.
“OK, gracias, but I prefer a girl.”
Gay or not, even I am not liberal enough to have a guy do something that intimate for me!