So, on the tail of fighting off a cold, I stopped to get some tricked-out juice with all the extras to zap the health back into me. Before me stood a beautiful, polished blonde woman, complaining to her equally beautiful, polished blonde friend. She complained that her three karat wedding ring made the one karat right-hand ring birthday gift look unbalanced. She goes on and on about what a source of stress this is to her and I listen, bored, yet enthralled in the genuine pain in her voice. I wait for my tricked-out juice with the blonde women. The fellow in line behind me orders and moves to the side, near us, to wait for his tricked-out juice as well. I felt eyes on me and turned to see this fellow scratching his balls and taking in the three women standing near him. Aw, Sparky, you really put the ass in class, don’tcha?

Now, here’s a little tidbit about me. (You’ll see the connection in a minute.) I don’t shave my armpits right now. No, sometimes I do, I mean, I have shaved them before, but most of the time I think it’s a big waste of time. Why should I shave them? Who cares, really? Who gives a dirty shit about my underarms? Well, as anyone who tries to live outside the box via not giving a shit abou that will tell you: it would surprise you. The people you’d think would be creeped by armpit hair absolutely love it. The people you’d think wouldn’t give a shit about armpit hair, especially mine, are not only sicked out, but some are downright angry. Isn’t that weird?

Anyway, right now, I’m not shaving them and this is what happened.

It was the first warm day we’ve had and I took full advantage of the opportunity to wear a t-shirt on its own. So, standing there, waiting for my tricked-out juice with the fellow and the beautiful blonde women, I scratched my earlobe. The horror, I know. And, as you might have guessed, in order to scratch my ear, I shamelessly lifted my arm. As I did this, the fellow waiting for his tricked-out juice let out a loud gasp. I turned to look at him, to make sure he wasn’t choking to death, and was met with a look of disgust. He scoffed, pointed to my half-exposed armpit and said, “Pssh. You’re misleading.” Are you joking? I laughed at the sheer absurdity of this and replied, “Don’t worry. I’m not trying to lead you anyplace.” He could have joined my laugh. He could have just shut the fuck up and not concerned himself with my armpits in the first place. Instead, he came back by taking a step towards me, shaking an angry finger in my face and saying, “And you know what? You’re never going to lead me anyplace with those, either!”… before grabbing the wrong juice (In his haste, he grabbed the juice the blonde woman ordered. Imagine, a dude like him not understanding the concept of waiting his turn!) and storming out as he muttered I was “unnatural”. Hey, Broahm? Actually, I don’t think “unnatural” is the word you want.

So, am I supposed to be upset? Oh, boo-hoo the frat boy doesn’t approve of me! I’d better run to the GAP and get myself outfitted right away in something feminine and flirty so boys will like me! Wait! Gimmie my little pink Daisy razor or I might not get my piece of Corporate Dude, Inc. Stop, fratboy! I’ll shave for you! Please don’t reject me! Pssh. Is that what he wanted? Seriously, what a fucknut thing to say.

Twenty bucks says:
(a) his name is Brett, Brock, Brody or Brandon
(b) he phoned a friend later and called me a “dyke”
(c) while on with friend, he also managed to slip in something about one or both of the beautiful blonde women “totally” wanting him, “you could totally tell”…
(d) he skips seats when going to the movies with male friends

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