Women and barbershops
As a woman, there is possibly no more enlightening experience than going to a barbershop with your husband/boyfriend/guy friend/random man. You will notice two things:
First, the barber will inevitably ask you, as "the boss," how you want said man's hair to be cut. He assumes that you are at the barbershop in the first place because you give a damn what said man's hair looks like. Going off of that assumption, and in an attempt to bond with his customer, he will jokingly (or not) talk of you as if you are a shrew, a harpy, a scold. Thereafter it is unlikely that he will address you, except perhaps to get your opinion on how he is doing his job.
Second, the barber will further attempt to forge a bond with his customer by talking about naked women. There are different ways they use to bring up the topic, but it always happens, so I try to watch for it. And I'm always amused to see how long it takes a given barber to play the naked woman card with, after all, a relative stranger.
I happened to accompany John to his haircut today. It wasn't by design and it certainly wasn't because I'm in the least bit concerned about how his hair looks. No, it was because the barbershop was on our way home and it was easier to stop and get it taken care of then. Needless to say, the barber (knowing that I wasn't there for a haircut myself) asked my opinion several times on how John's hair should be cut and then, within approximately 2 minutes of John's butt hitting the chair, we were all treated to a story about two twin sisters in New Orleans (named Mona and Lisa) with huge breasts. Ahh, the experience of a barbershop. There's nothing quite like it.