Dating and other bad habits.

After weeks of doing an excruciating calendar tango, The Boy In The Dress and I had made several dates that he then kept canceling. I tend to get bored quickly anyway and even my curiosity of what he looked like sans wig wasn’t enough “ooo shiny” to keep me interested. The final date had been made. Would I finally see what was hiding behind that lipsticked five o’clock shadow? Would I recognize him without make-up and six inch stilettos? Would he be as interesting when not in drag?

I waited at the coffee shop.

Gio, the barista, kept sneaking me sips of whiskey and occasionally doing a lap through the coffee house to make certain the drag queen hadn’t snuck in to watch me wait.  We had a secret code word, “vigote”, which is mustache in Spanish. But of course, since Gio has a Brazilian accent and the v sounds like a b in the Latin language, I thought our code was “big toe”.

We never even got to use the code, because after 20 minutes of standing, shifting my weight from one leg to the other, I finally sent a text message to the tranny.

“Am I getting stood up?” I clicked away on my cell phone and sent out into the ether.

A few minutes later my response came: yes. He feigned that he had just woken up from sleeping off a headache and oh-my-god-I’m-so-sorry-can-we-please-reschedule.  No. No more rescheduling. My time is too valuable for that.

“No thank you, but I hope you feel better,” I replied.

So what’s a girl to do when she’s been stood up by a man in drag?

Easy. Go find another date.

I mean, what was the other option? Waste that perfectly good dress?  No way! Besides, making out under a streetlight with a hot guy I actually want to date  is far more satisfying than having boring coffee with a dude I only want to play dress up with.

Leah=1, Tranny=0.