Pink Panthers

I've decided that supporters of equal marriage rights for gay people may need to form a new political action group like the Black Panthers back in the 70s to forcefully push its agenda. And if I could choose where to start the movement it would be with gay hairdressers in Atlanta, Nashville, Birmingham, Oklahoma City and Little Rock.

Billie, a well put-together Southern woman from (substitute name of any prominent southern city here) walks into the salon where she's had a standing appointment for the past 15 years. She checks in at the front desk to let Shane, her (gay, gay, gay) stylist know she has arrived. She sees him at his chair tending to an earlier appointment and gives him a sweet smile and a quiet wave before sitting down to wait for her visit with him.

As she catches her reflection in one of the waiting area mirrors she admires how well her cut has lasted. She wonders what Laura Bush would look like with a decent haircut. She makes a mental note to ask Shane what he would do with the First Lady's hair if he were given carte blanche. She also wants to know why the wife of a United States president who is also a Texas millionaire can't manage to find a suit that fits her. As she meditates on the First Lady's image she reminds herself to ask Shane if he thinks those little wrinkles around Laura's mouth might mean she smokes. She suspects so, but the only smokers she knows are the ushers at church who light up outside the building once the preacher starts his sermon.

Billie smiles as she thinks about how month after month she shares more of her thoughts with Shane than she does with some of her own siblings. She certainly sees him more often and could more easily live without some of them. As Shane says goodbye to his earlier apointment at the desk, Billie makes her way back to his chair. Before she has a chance to ask her Laura Bush questions Shane turns to her with a clipboard in his hand. Smiling, he says,

"I'm so glad you're here. My gay colleagues and I are asking customers who believe in us to sign petitions that support our right to marry our partners. We've decided that we can only serve customers who support our families' basic rights."

"Oh, Shane. You know I love you, and I would do anything to support you and Frank. But I don't think men should marry other men. And the Bible says so, too. I hope you understand."

"Well, I think I do. And you're sweet to say you love me. We've shared so much together over the years. I'll miss our regular appointments. As a courtesy to our customers who can't support our marriage rights, we are referring them to Harley's Barber Shop down the street. It's just a few doors away, and there's a barber pole out front so you can't miss it."

"What? But I have an appointment with you."

"Oh, don't worry about that. Harley doesn't believe in appointments, so you should be able to walk right in and hop in the chair."

Shane hands Billie her purse and gently grabs her arm to help her toward the front desk. She stares at him with a frozen face waiting for the joke to end. Her heels tap out an SOS signal of uncertainty as she is led to the door.

I'm not sure how the story ends. Any ideas? BTW, there actually already is a Pink Panthers group in Canada, but their energy is directed against the gay community. I was telling my friend Rosie about my version of the Pink Panther plan and her response was that if something like this ever really happened "Southern women would definately vote their hair."