Did I ever tell you the story about the crazy lady who told me to (and I quote), "At least grow some breasts"? No? Good, let me tell you about a sunny Saturday afternoon in early February of 2008. I was casually walking from the gym, heading due East towards my apartment. Coming towards me I noticed a short, stout woman wearing a blue coat and what appeared to be a black helmet. Squinting already (because of the brilliant, BRILLIANT sun facing me) I strained my eyes further to see if I could make out what was really heading in my direction. It was a woman, she was wearing a blue coat, but as she neared I saw that it was not a helmet atop her head, but a very sculpted bob cut that was dyed jet black. Curiously enough, she had also dyed or left untouched, white wisps of hair just above her ears. She liked it, I thought. That's great. Granted, only 10 seconds had passed since the first sighting of this elderly woman up to this point, but I had already begun to think about something else. Probably food and a shower. "But which to do first? Food, definitely food," I thought to myself. "Oh, and look, here is that woman just about five feet away from me now. I should smile and say, "Hi." on this lovely afternoon. Just to be nice, you know, because I'm a nice person." So squinting because of the still brilliant sun in my face, I gave her a half smile and a nearly silent "Hi." Now, Lord, if I had known, and I should have known at that point because I immediately got this sinking feeling in my stomach as I saw her face nearly melt off, that she was going to say what she said, I would have prepared myself, and had a more witty response. However, when someone belts out, "No lesbians. NO LESBIANS!" behind your back, it is shocking and I stopped in my tracks. Dead stop. "WHAT?" I responded. She retorted, "At least grow some breasts!"
Yeah, ok, now this is where we pause, children. I was wearing a black pea coat, but even through that, let's be honest, the ladies are evident. Even my father admitted that that was a completely bogus remark to make about me and my chesticles, and my father is not the Joe Simpson type of dad. I had to laugh at this point. "Excuse me?" I walked on. However, about ten feet further down the street, fuming with confusion and dismay, I wanted to turn around and yell, but mute the world to all the children and their families nearby, "Oh yeeeeahhh! And all I want to do is get into your pants, you old bag!" But I didn't. Again, I'm a nice person.
This past Saturday, as Deuce and I were taking a walk, I spotted the helmet and white wisps! It was her. I looked at her, she looked at me, and woah. Deuce was on my right side, clearly a boy, a metro-boy, but still, a boy, and she looked at me - almost through me - and for a second I wanted to pull Deuce up to her and vehemently make out with him until she yelled, "No heteros! No heteros!" But we carried on, and my counselor boyfriend reassured me that she is crazy, and with the way she looked at me, that she probably thinks I'm an illusion. Ooo an illusion? Sweet.
Now, every Saturday I take this short walk from the gym to my apartment and have yet to see her again at that point, but on days when the sun is just right- just like it was that one memorable day in February- I have stopped, squinted, smiled and taken a picture of myself. And this has proven not only how "non-lesbian" (whatever that means), but more duped- as if I had been promised a chocolate bar, but was instead slapped in the face with an old, wet fish- I look after the gym. But trust, it's all an illusion. I'm just doing it for the attention I get out of the neighborhood nutsies.