Probably. At least that was the stereotype. Sid had a particular affinity for anyone who could rock that 80s hair. But also his mother had purchased (and subsequently left behind when she disappeared from their lives) vhs tapes of both Moonstruck and Mermaids. On days where there was nothing to do and nothing else on tv, they got watched. His first crushes were a young Winona Ryder and Cher's hair.
"Fair enough," he agreed with a small shrug. "You mean you don't want them to know you eat sad omelets in your spare time?" If he were Jamie he wouldn't want anyone to know that either. Not when there were perfectly good hamburgers and fried eggs to be had.
"I mean." Sid raised his eyebrows pointedly. "Considering you're in the Middle-of-Nowhere, USA, I just assumed you'd reached your expiration date, no offense. It's got a pretty high rate of turnover, doesn't it?" Ballet, he meant. Not that he really knew anything about it. "One of those things where they keep you around until you're a certain age and then..." He mimed running a knife across his throat with his finger. "Like that thing that happens to actresses when they turn forty?" Unless, again, you were Cher. Or Meryl Streep.
Sid clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and shook his head. "You're missing out."