Current Mood: Vagtastic
Thank you for coming to my blog. If you are easily offended, go write your secretly gay, Republican now-former
congressman. I have too much to do.
What you are about to read is part 7 of my work-in-progress entitled “72 People I’ve Met On The Subway.” Each and every one of the encounters I detail have indeed happened, here in NYC, exactly as I tell them. Well, you know, per my memory….which is completely reliable. I swear.
#7. Our Love Is Infectious
One Halloween, I had a great costume idea. A brilliant one, I might even add. My gal and I would dress like infections. Sure, it’s a bit abstract, but I had a plan:
I would be a urinary tract infection! I wore a piss-yellow shirt (picked up at a thrift shop) and brown pants. I dipped a toothbrush into bleach then snapped it over the shirt, creating light bleach spots which were my globules; rust-colored eyeliner was used to draw my “exposed veins” on the shirt and on my neck. To top it off, two Zip-Loc baggies filled with Ivory soft soap hung from my belt — this was my puss.
My then-current lady-love would be a yeast infection. She wore a dark pinkish skirt and a pink t-shirt, also with the bleach effect. She added some stretched cotton balls to her hair, for “that cheesy effect,” and, pinned on the front of her skirt, two things: an empty box of Vagisil and, just below that, a little packet of yeast.
Ah, romance! We were terribly proud of our costumes, telling everyone we knew about the party we were going to and what we were dressing as — all the while giggling at the “our love is infectious” joke and repeating said joke every chance we could.
The party we were heading to was downtown; we’d be meeting a buddy of mine at the bus stop. So, off we went.
It was fairly early on Saturday night, and the bus was a little crowded. The three of us stood towards the front, by the reserved seats for the elderly. My gal wore a 3/4-length winter coat; it went down to just below her Vagisil. My top coat covered me up pretty completely. My friend was dressed innocuously as Count Dracula.
Suddenly, one of the sweet elderly women we stood by bent towards my gal, and, seeing the yeast packet on her skirt and balls of cotton in her hair, she asked my girl — in that sweet old lady voice — “What’re you supposed to be?”
Being one of the few people left in the world who actually respects her elders, my lady froze with fright…She couldn’t possibly tell the woman what she was! I simply smiled and turned away hoping she would tell the old lady the truth — what a great sociological experiment that would’ve been (yeah, I’m kind of a bastard that way).
So my gal was frozen with fright and my friend, embarrassed, was doing his best to help, whispering in her ear the answer, the answer she needed to say, frantically repeating the safe response…
And my lady repeated what she heard in her ear: “Bread! I’m dressed as a loaf of bread.”
The elderly woman smiled and turned to her elderly friend. “Ohh, how cute is that?”
Yeah, baby, cute as a yeasty vagina, you betcha!