“OH. YOU’SE a LADY!”
There is this guy who hangs out on my street. I don’t want to call him a bum, because he has a home. Or at least I think he has a home (I theorize that he stays with some relatives of his, who are my next door neighbors). But I digress. My girlfriend tells me that being a bum is not the same thing as being homeless, so let me start over.
There is this bum who hangs out on my street. He is bald and appears to be perpetually drunk. I have come to the conclusion that he isn’t actually drunk from the drinking he is doing on daily basis, rather he has pickled his brain into a state of constant drunkeness from the drinking he has done over the years. Not that this technicality matters much, as the end result is the same.
The first time I met him, he stumbled up to me and shook my hand over the gate that separates what you might call my “patio” (but which is actually just a place to put trashcans) from the sidewalk.
“Hi,” he said. “I’m Brothaman!”
“Pleased to meet you, Brother Man,” I said, whitely.
A few months later, I was taking out the trash when I heard a slurry voice call out from behind me.
For the record, I am a bisexual lady who prefers to date other ladies and to this end, I tend to dress rather boyishly. That said, I also have ENORMOUS tits, and so, while I have been “sir’ed” occasionally in the airport, the mistake doesn’t get made too too often.
“Hey man!” yelled Brothaman, “HEY! MAN!”
I turned around.
“Yes?” I replied.
“Oh,” said Brotherman, “YOU’SE A LADY!!!”
I could feel every ear on my block perk up around me.
“Yes,” I said, rather defeatedly, “yes, I am.”
I finished taking out the trash and went inside.
