Friday, May 7

Mr. Fancy Stamps.

I'm no stranger to people thinking I'm gay. Ever since I was young, people would always speculate as to if I was practicing an alternative lifestyle. Admittedly, having a bona fide homosexual as your best friend was no saving grace. The general public just assumed that we were lovers. No amount of flirting or games of flag football seemed to change this stereotype. I like lots of "guy things", such as sports, explosions and Asian women; But I also like lots of "girl things" too, like listening, honesty and common sense. Apparently, that was the final straw for most, and I was branded a fruit. This has never bothered me, because now I'm all poised to marry the most beautiful woman in the world, who throws more lovin' at me than I could ever handle. I'm a lucky guy.

But as of recent times, the gay assumption has gone away, despite my skyrocketing femininity. I'm way more queer now than I ever used to be. You can see it in the way I dress, the things I like to talk about, my extensive macrame' collection. My "metrosexuality" is at critical mass, but now nobody seems to care, as it's becoming the male norm. For years, women have always said they prefer a funny and caring man over a rugged and handsome one, and now that seems to be sweeping the nation. Of course, I still know that most women are completely full of shit. I just try to stick with what works for me.

Which leads me to last week. I was in the Post Office, informing them of my change of last name. My clerk was a muscular, rugged and handsome man named "Jurgen". I told him that I was changing my last name, and all mail under "Zeinert" should be forwarded to me from now on. He paused for a bit, eyed me up and down, and decided that he knew why I was changing my name.

"Are you getting married?" He asked me.

"Um, yeah I am. But that's not why-", I tried to explain.

"No, no, that's fine! Lots' of guys do that!" He said, reassuringly. I tried a few more times to explain what was going on, but Jurgen had me all figured out. He thought one of two things:

1. I was changing my last name to Celia's last name, because I'm a weak, sad man marrying a domineering woman.


2. I was about to marry a man.

I know this seems like I'm reading into things too much, but I can assure you that Jurgen thought I was gay. Now, there's a number of ironies for a man who's named after a lucrative hand lotion company to think that I'M the one who is about to buy a plane ticket to San Francisco. I could have been snippy with him, but it would have only proved his point more, and he was large enough to stuff me into a legal size envelope. I decided to leave quietly.

"So what?" You're thinking right now. "He's probably forgotten all about you!" You'd like to think that, wouldn't you? Is it humanly possible to forget about someone who you think is gay? Every time you see someone you think is gay, the first thing that pops into your head is, "He's gay!".

So, flash ahead to today. I stopped in to buy a book of stamps. Once again, Jurgen looks at me for a bit, and asks me what I need.

"Book of stamps, please." I said in my deepest voice.

"Okay. Would you like the American flag stamps, or..."

Jurgen paused, and looked right at me.

"...Would you like some fancy stamps?"

I became wide-eyed as he began showcasing various colorful stamps commemorating Dr. Seuss, Andy Warhol, candy hearts and breast cancer.

"Um....Just the flags, please." I got my stamps and left briskly. Does Jurgen think I'm gay? Or did he honestly think a straight 22 year old male would give more than a poop about what he has to place on the upper right hand corner of his outgoing mail?

I needed some advice, so I called up my good friend, Jerry Falwell.

He said to me, "Faggots will burn in eternal hellfire. God hates them, and so should you."

I said back to him, "Jerry, is that the way you always answer a phone?"


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