It was super gay to love Cher, wasn't it? Like, drag-queen gay. Jamie hadn't worn lipstick in years, not since the last time Molly had tackled him with her Revlon Cherry-Blossom wet-slick whatever, but he had worn nail-polish. There were flecks of it, a shimmer-navy in the cuticles of his nails now. He didn't love the whole body of work, man but he did have a good amount of respect for self re-invention. It wasn't so much the surgeon as the control of her own PR.
"If we were all Cher, she'd lose something. Cher-ness. That's a word, I invented it, I'm patenting it right after I'm done with my coffee. Yeah, they're old but they're like, sharp. They're nice people I just really don't want to lose the mystique." Jamie laughed and scrubbed his fingers through the back of his hair. Okay, punny, Sid. Score one for the really weak dad-jokes department.
"I love ballet." Which was way too honest for the grimy diner but whatever, it was true. "You have to if you're ever gonna make it. I made it, even if teaching in the Rec Center sorta makes it look like I didn't."
He eyed the waitress and pursed his lips to blow her a kiss. "If I order a cheeseburger, tell me no. I have no self-control."