My Little Disease (not to be confused with My Little Ponies)

As you may have read in the recent news releases, I am gay. Due to this fact, I purchased tickets to Wicked nearly two years ago for the time it would come back to Denver. Well, that time has come and gone now. The boyfriend and I went two nights ago. You would have thought that buying tickets for the best seats possible two years ago would have ensured a prime location smack dab in the middle. You would have thought wrong. We were close, but were off to the left of the stage. Still, it was a delightful experience. Glinda’s part was over the top perfection. Died laughing. I probably annoyed everyone around me by singing along on occasion. I am sure I should have felt some moral compass restraining my impulsivity, but I didn’t. Who says gays have class? I seem to have gotten off track on what I wanted to tell. Deepest apologies. My boyfriend, Chad (I asked, I can use his name), noticed a 30ish or 40ish year old woman a couple rows in front of us. She was a rather large. Not fat, but large—could have put me in my place (which is Sonic). She had on a black dress with white lettering and a white ribbon around her waste. She looked nice, not too dressy, but nice. There were several in attendance who should have been taken out back and stoned for their lack of decorum. Shorts, T-Shirt, Flip-Flops. REALLY? Anyway, about five people down, on the same row, sat an adorable girl. Probably about eleven or so. She also had on a charming black dress with white lettering and a white ribbon around her waste. Well, isn’t that cute? Similar dresses. Oh, wait, no. The SAME dress! Everything, identical, a study in cloning and contrasting size. I though it was cute that a mother and daughter would dress up alike for the show. That would have cute. Somewhat incestuously enmeshed, but cute. Chad heard the little girl lean over to her mom and say, “Look mom, that lady has the same dress as I do!” Sigh. It made buying tickets two years ago for off-center seats totally worth it. It is one thing to show up wearing the same outfit as someone in your own class and peer group. It is an entirely different thing to be attired in the same fashion as a fourth grader. It is even another to not only wear the same garb as a toddler but to be outdone by said infant in the same damn row! If only she had thought to wear her cut off shorts, halter, and sandals instead.
Earlier that day, Chad, Dunkyn, Dolan and I went on one of our walking adventures. While enjoyable, and one of my favorite parts of the day, these walks normally consist of a vast amount of sniffing, pooping, tangled leashes, and pooping. I tend to plan ahead and think of everything that could go wrong in every aspect of y life so that I can be prepared to take some form of action. Well, while I hate to admit it, you can’t plan adequately for everything, and every so often little acts of sheer terror occur that are utterly out of our power to control. It is God’s way of rapping us on the head and saying, ‘Yeah, I’m still here, Dip Shit!!!’ You don’t think He would say that? Well, then let’s blame the devil. Although I must say, I think he would be much too suave and debonair to curse in such fashion. You can be the judge. As I was saying, however, we went on our normal stroll, unawares that potential death was stalking us, determining which of the four seemed the most succulent upon which to feast. We proceeded through our little journey without so much as a snag. I don’t even think I stumbled or tripped once (always a bad sign). The flowers were beautiful. The birds sang in sheer pleasure of the warmth of the sun and the caress of the tender breeze. Butterflies drifted around us in abundant colorful displays of affection. At one point, their colors blended to form the shape and shades of rainbow. Not sure if this was a reminder of God’s promise not to flood the world again, a sign of gay pride, or an omen of a flood coming to wash over the gay community. What do you think, Mr. Falwell? Regardless, beautiful day, beautiful walk, beautiful dogs. What, I left out one? Oh, yes, Beautiful Boys. Why thank you for saying so. I am flattered. Just as our time of perfection was nearing a close, about a hundred feet or so from the front door, Dolan and I embarked on our traditional race of the final steps. We made it a few feet when from the corner of my eye, I glimpsed a plague ridden squirrel leap across the neighbors’ front porch, bounding off their table, chairs, and railing. Being the brave, daring, heroic man that I am, I continued the race so that my youngest would enjoy our bonding experience. A few feet closer to the door, closer to salvation, the besieged squirrel sprang from his crouched perch on the porch and leapt towards me. He found his pray in the form of my upper left thigh. Some would say that I screamed little a little girl in a black and white dress running breathlessly from the clutching grasp of Rosie O’Donnel. (Sorry Rosie, really do love you.) Some would say that. They would be wrong. I let out a roar that would have made the Spartans in ‘300’ tremble in fear and loosely concealed desire. The squirrel bounded off my thigh. Dolan tore after him. Being the forgiving example of Christ that I am, I restrained him from defending my honor. We made our way back inside and collapsed in trembling exhaustion. This may be my final blog as I may soon go the way of the poor monkey whose life was also taken by Denver’s Al-Qaeda squirrel population. Farwell, cruel (yet pretty) world.