Underpants On The Outside

You know, I’m twenty seven years old, and while I haven’t been humping women for the majority of it, (or long enough to be any good at it), I thought I had reached a point where I was confident in my sexuality.  After all, I’m on the verge of moving in with my girlfriend (as I call it, “the last gasp”), and while stranger things have happened, it’s usually a good indicator that your hump-o-meter is set to “hetero”.

Yet something happened today.  Something… unnerving.  Now, it wasn’t the first time I’ve ever seen an androgynous person, but for all the times I’ve asked myself “Is that a boy or a girl?” I’ve never before had to add, “because if it’s a girl, she’s totally hot.”  That should never happen.  Like parallel lines, there should be no point where “dude” and “hot chick” meet.  I’m fairly sure there are mathematical proofs on this; some corrollary of Maxwell’s equations or something.  It’s an abomination against God and man…or woman…whatever. 

The whole experience left me baffled.  Perhaps I’ve been wrong all this time?  But for the past two hours I’ve done nothing but watch Will and Grace with a hairbrush handle where the sun don’t shine, and I have yet to feel anything remotely close to what I’d call “pleasure”.  All I know is that I owe my roommate a new hairbrush.