When seeing a friend recently, I wanted to say something interesting. I racked my brain for a springy anecdote.
I said, "I just saw a seven foot tall transvestite walking down the street."
The friend gave me a blank stare. "So?"
"He wore a short, short mini dress. You could see his bare man legs."
"And?"
How could I convey to this uninterested individual that a transvestite in eight-inch heels tottering down main street just naturally gives me the giggles? I said, "His wig was bigger than a full grown poodle."
My friend frowned and asked me what I thought of the weather.
I wondered fleetingly if I had offended her. Does she have a brother who wears make-up? I wanted to backtrack and say something about how I respect transvestites, but I would laugh at anyone wearing a black satin baby doll dress in forty degree temperatures.
In the end, I let it go. Anecdotes become the kiss of a conversation's death when you try to explain them. Instead we talked about the wind chill factor.
When we parted company, I took out my notebook and wrote the word "Transvestite." This made me chuckle. Then I wrote it down four more times. I was so pleased that at least I got my own joke.
I said, "I just saw a seven foot tall transvestite walking down the street."
The friend gave me a blank stare. "So?"
"He wore a short, short mini dress. You could see his bare man legs."
"And?"
How could I convey to this uninterested individual that a transvestite in eight-inch heels tottering down main street just naturally gives me the giggles? I said, "His wig was bigger than a full grown poodle."
My friend frowned and asked me what I thought of the weather.
I wondered fleetingly if I had offended her. Does she have a brother who wears make-up? I wanted to backtrack and say something about how I respect transvestites, but I would laugh at anyone wearing a black satin baby doll dress in forty degree temperatures.
In the end, I let it go. Anecdotes become the kiss of a conversation's death when you try to explain them. Instead we talked about the wind chill factor.
When we parted company, I took out my notebook and wrote the word "Transvestite." This made me chuckle. Then I wrote it down four more times. I was so pleased that at least I got my own joke.
Comments