The Gays Are Watching

One fine night at the theater....

The lobby was packed, thanks to a fellow who decided to have the busload of kids he was chaperoning wait inside the lobby (where they were pressed in together and no one was able to move with any ease) rather than on the bus (where they could have lollygagged in comfort in their seats or in the aisle).

Which, among other things, meant a fellow and his wife had no choice but to stand at the box office window, unable to move anywhere.

Those of us inside the box office (three, count them, three homosexuals) couldn't help looking at this fellow, with his platinum blonde hair, the piercings in his eyebrow and ears. While it's a fine look for a young, handsome man, this fellow must have been at least fifty (and that would be fifty years of rough living, my friends, from the wrinkles and the haggard look).

Unaware that we could hear him, he said to his wife "The homosexuals are having a field day looking me up and down."

It was true. We were looking at him. But not, as he apparently thought, because we were so taken by his masculine charms, his saucy piercings, that we would have been all over him given the chance. No, we were looking because we couldn't believe our eyes. His wife must really love him to a) let him leave the house looking like an old man trying deperately to appear young and b) having let him out of the house, to actually be seen with him.

While