Who will be on top, Will? 0
I wouldn’t consider myself a fag hag. I love and respect anyone with good fashion sense and a keen ear for music which includes ABBA and the Scissor Sisters. As you can you imagine, with my open mind and open mouth, the gays flock to me. A friend coined the term “fruit fly.” I’ll own that one.
I was killin’ the other day at the office. I had my main gay laughing out loud and grabbing his belly when I came up with the reality show idea, “To Catch a Cougar Lover.” Each week would feature a different scenario starring me. For instance, I’d lure the pizza delivery guy into my bedroom. Afterwards, my main gay would catch the guy coming out the door.
“You realize she’s 41,” he’d say.
“Ah….. cool,” Pizza boy would reply with cameras in his face.
With his clipboard firmly in his hand, my main gay would say, “According to the transcript, she said she was 29. How does this make you feel?”
“Shut up dood, I’m enjoying my brownies and sweet tea,” he’d reply.
We laughed and laughed and then, when he caught his breath, he popped the question. “I know you are looking for an apartment. I want to buy a condo. Want to go in on one together?”
I’ve become Grace. It’s flattering that a man that has known me four months sees the bliss I could bring to a dysfunctional domestic partnership. Of course, it enraged me that he gets it and the straight ones don’t. I told him we couldn’t handle living with each other. We’d never get laid with all the cats we’d end up having. It just wouldn’t be good.
But the office hi-jinx continues. He calls me Miss Kitty while others yell “hide the children” when I walk down the hall.