A week after I came out to my Dad, guess who calls me up?
She called me.
I had already ignored 9,999 of her previous calls, therefore I decided to pick this one up. What can I say? I'm nice like that, sometimes.
So we chat for five minutes, ignoring the literal elephant in the room (hey, I was looking into the mirror).
She then declared that she wanted to meet.
I immediately regretted picking up her call. I just spoke to her after a long time of ignoring her calls, and now she wanted to meet? I then realized that this is a woman who has no sense of boundaries at all. The memory of all the really horrible things she had told me about herself a few years ago came puking back.
She clearly told me that if I did not meet her she would stand outside my house and shout out cuss words in victorian english, so I was left with no choice but to meet her. Although, to be safe, I asked her to meet me in my family home, so that there would be witnesses just in case things got a little bit out of hand. I'm smart like that, sometimes.
Anyways, time passes too fast, the metaphorical clock ticks away to five, and I ask my Mom to make sure that my precious books are distributed according to the list I have prepared, just in case I am unable to "survive" this meeting. Of course, my Mom thought I was just being a tad melodramatic. I guess I can't blame her for that. I am the same person, who, a few months ago forced her get rid of half the plants in her garden because I felt like they were too judgemental. It might sound a little crazy, but under circumstances will I be judged in my own home. At least not by those green, freeloading basteds.
Right. Moving on.
The bell rings, I pray to the almost empty bottle of Vodka on the table to keep me out of harm's way, and then I go to open the door to meet her.
Okay, fine. I didn't exactly open the door myself, I might have 'politely' asked someone from the household help to do it, just in case she was carrying a weapon. Hey, they're poor and they live in a third world country. Their lives are probably less valuable.
So let's not lose focus here, people.
After the door is opened, S-Girl enters the house. She has the aura of a lame serial killer from a Dan Brown novel. We sit down, she makes small talk. I continue to nod constantly, while also trying to be alert enough to watch out for any sudden movements.
The conversation keeps moving while my pea sized heart tries to exit via my mouth.
S Girl: You know, we really should finish what we started a few years ago.
S Girl: *head tilt* You know what I'm talking about . . .
Me: No, I have no idea. I have trouble remembering things. I drink a lot, remember?
S Girl: (Moving closer) Let me remind you then . . .
Me: (getting up) I'M mmmmmm GAYYYYYY . . . VERY GAY . . . . GAYER THAN A HUGH GRANT MOVIE . . .
S Girl: What?????????
Me: Yes. I'm gay. I like boys. Not girls. Don't like girls. I mean, I like girls, but just not in that way.
S Girl: But . . . how can you be gay? . . .
S Girl: Look at you . . . you're wearing Reeboks with corduroy jeans? What's up with that?
Me: Well, I haven't entered the being fabulous phase yet.
Me: Still working on that.
S Girl: Seriously? I hope so, for your sake.
S Girl: Only redneck farmers and 90 year old Belgian grandmothers are allowed to have so much facial hair.
S Girl: Also, that tub of lard needs to go.
Me: Hey, I just haven't shaved in a while.
Me: And that's not a tub of lard, bitch. That's my stomach.
S Girl: Just letting you know stuff, buddy.
Me: Might I remind you that you were the one who was about to KISS ME a few minutes ago?
S Girl: Yeah, but I'm a married Indian woman. I take whatever I can get.
Me: I hate you, you know!
S Girl: Ha. Fine. Tell me something I don't know.
S Girl: So, since when have you known that you're a pole smoker?
Me: Offensive, bitch.
Me: And I guess I've known since as long as I can remember.
S Girl: Ummmm, were you gay when we were going out?
Me: We were never 'going out', per se.
S Girl: Well, you know what I mean!
Me: Yeah, okay.
Me: Well, I did know, I guess, but I was deep in denial at that time.
Me: Although, now that I think about it, you probably might have helped me confirm it.
Me: I might have been confused, but after our whole thing, I was pretty damn sure I was a 'mo.
Me: Don't wanna be rude, but you might have even turned me . . . hahaha
S Girl: *Looks like a piñata got stuck up her cervix*
S Girl: WHAT. DID. YOU. MEAN. BY. THAT?
Me: Just a joke. Kidding. I had a drink during lunch. Lighten up. Take a deep breath.
S Girl: So you're definitely gay?
Me: Yup. I am. Thankfully.
S Girl: Yeah. Sure. What a "loss" to straight woman. Boo fucking hoo.
Me: Yeah, that's rich, coming from a desperate housewife.
S Girl: Touché.
Me: Thank you, madam.
S Girl: So you like boys, huh?
S Girl: Then stay away from my husband. *stupid grin* hahahaha
Me: Please, even if he is the last man on earth, I'd never hit on that sad little fucker.
S Girl: WHY? what's wrong with him?
Me: Errrrr, nothing.
S Girl: Is it the hair? Or the moustache? Or the mole?
Me: NOTHING. He seems like a nice guy.
S Girl: It's the hair isn't it?
S Girl: Or is the way he talks?
Me: Okayyyyy. Let's just leave it at that, please? Great. Thank you.
Me: So the weather is being such a bitch, isn't it?
S Girl: Is it because of the way he laughs? Does it makes you want to join a cult, too?
Me: So have you read Wolf Hall yet? I'm hearing good things about it.
S Girl: Why wouldn't you want to do my husband?
Me: Cause he is your frikin husband!! Does that mean anything to YOU?
S Girl: Meh. He's probably gay, anyway.
Me: EXCUSE ME??
S Girl: Nothing.
S Girl: I think I'd better leave.
Me: Yeah. That would be for the best.
(Then I went to see her off, so as to make sure she doesn't come back)
Me: So this was fun.
S Girl: *Silence*
Me: Nice catching up with you.
S Girl: (gets into car)
Me: We should do this again sometime.
S Girl: (closes door, starts engine)
Me: Give my best to your husband.
S Girl: (speeds away, hopefully never to be seen again!)
Do you think I might have touched a nerve, somewhere?
Even if I did, well, she started it.