I am back home now in Toronto.

And it is so glorious my possums, so glorious!

They first thing I did was drive down the DVP and since I don’t own a convertible, I had my windows way, way down. The DVP was clear and I could see all the way to the Gardiner Expressway, unlike L.A., where all you see is cars upon, upon cars, upon cars.

And when the guy in the “fast lane” drove around me and flipped me the finger, I relished in the moment and thought to myself,”how kind of him to welcome me back in such a way! I love you!” So then I calmly put my fingers in the shape of a V and flashed my tongue through them. And after his surprise look on his face, he later gave me a laughing, yet knowing smile as we met up later, off the highway, at the first set of lights.

May I just point out something? Why is it that when people drive so fast around you in frustration, only to meet up with them later at the same traffic light.. It just puts everything in a different light, non?

Possums, drive slow!

Anyhoo, as I was driving feeling the wind hitting me in my face and caressing my long luxurious hair that I own when I came to think about manscaping, and if all women should push their men friends to do such a thing.

Manscaping is a play on the words-“landscaping” and “man”.

When I was in L.A. I met up with an old friend. No, not that kind of friend. Just an old friend. I was surprised to see how burly he looked! Almost like an un-sexy field hand! I insisted we grabbed brunch (for some reason people in L.A. don’t “do Breakfast”, their breakfast is coffee) because I had to tell him. That is what friends are for.

The conversation went something to the tune of-

MOI-“I would like 3 eggs lightly coddled with cheddar cheese. Please make sure the cheese is mixed in so that it gets melted and don’t bother to bring the bread.”

FIELD HAND-“I would like an order of pancakes, with a side of sausage, a side order of bacon and a cup of coffee. And she will have the bread.”

MOI-“You are so bad!”

FIELD HAND-“I know you too well, if you don’t get the bread, you will be folding one of my pancakes and spreading them with butter as if they were homemade baguettes!”

MOI-“Speaking about baguettes, what is up with the long piece of bread above the eyes?”

FIELD HAND-“What are you taking about?”

MOI-“Honey,  when was the last time you look in the mirror. I mean I am all for scruff and puff, but speaking for  most girls, the scruff part went out a long time ago. Not even Justin Timberlake does it anymore.”

FIELD HAND-“Blah, Blah, Blah, what is wrong with thick eyebrows, I was born with them!”

MOI-“Honey, even Brooke Shields would pass you by on the street and say, “damn that man has got him some big donkey eyebrows!”

FIELD HAND-“No she wouldn’t! Doesn’t she used that chemicals to make her eyebrows grow bigger?”

MOI-“No, dumb, dumb, that is for her eye-LASHES!!!”

Maybe Field Hand needs to get out of the sun and back in the cold!

Afterwards, I asked him to follow me to the local mall. I was on a mission. I was going to find him a barber shop for his upper region. When we arrived at the pointed destination, I knew that it would be easier for me if I found a shop that was full of women cause you know that saying, “that with enough faith you can move a mountain?” That is true…only if there is like at least five women instructing the 20 men to move it!

“Why are you going in here for, you have Black people’s hair?” said the Field Hand.

“But, darling, did you forget that change has come to America?”I said blinking my eyelashes.

Once, I got him in the door. I told them that I wanted HIS eyebrows done.

But, let me tell you how the jigga’s eyebrows went up so far in surprise that I thought he extended his hairline!!!

The vultures swooped around us for the kill.

Field Hand pulled me aside and was like, “I can’t get my eyebrows done! I am not gay!”

“Honey, getting your eyebrows done does not make you gay, it makes you look human!”

It did not matter anyways, cause those women were already grabbing him and plopping in the big chair.

It was so divine!

Their hustling.

His pouting.

Their tugging.

His screams.

Their waxing.

His cringing.

Their threading.

His toe curling.

Their hushing.

His whimpers.

Their oohing.

His aweing.

The Butana strutted around showing off his eyebrows to everyone man, woman, child and even hookers on the corner in the greater tri-state area. But, I gave into his whims, he had been through so much!

“So my dear, are you still thinking you are so gay that you feel that you will go outside right now, mouth opened wide and fall on a penis?”

“Yes, maybe,” he replied.

We were quiet for a couple of minutes as we walked back to the car. I stumbled a bit on the sidewalk.

“Be careful of this uneven sidewalk!” I said.

“Only if I fall on a crack!” he laughed.

“Whatever! Country Bob.  Whatever!”

P.S. By the way, change hasn’t necessarily come to America, Country Bob Field Hand was right. They don’t do black hair!