Night buses are dire at the best of times but when one doesn’t turn up and leaves you stranded in the cold surrounded by homeless crack heads having a discussion about what heroin to buy at 3am, it’s definitely a suicidal moment. The bus finally turns up and I bump into my friend Lee – at least the bus journey will be more bearable now (you would think). It was funny at first when he tried to introduce me to his shag for the night but had to ask him for his name first (we’ve all been there). Then she obviously got a bit jeal that Lee and I were having jokes and catching up…
She dryly responded when Lee showed him my slutty nurses outfit for this year’s Halloween Monster Ball. Almost as classy as going home with someone you just met at G-A-Y Late, you might say. Retard. The last thing I needed after waiting 50 minutes for a double decker aroma of piss was bitchy comments from somebody wearing mouldy green fake Adidas trainers.
My friend then thought it would be even funnier to show him a picture of me in drag LAST Halloween too; ratchet blonde weave, dishelleved bra and draped along the inside of a phone box; it wasn’t my best look but in my defense it was at the end of the night and I did still look better than half the states I see in Soho on a Wednesday night.
“Would you…?” Lee joked.
“Desperate times” the diva expressed with a sigh.
I contemplated taking him down a peg or two but pointing out his blatant insecurities that two friends were catching up. But I subtly stated that I think Lee “better go sit over there before she throws her toys out the pram.”
And he blatantly thought I was a tranny now too. Did I care? Not even slightly. Did I respond by saying that the only thing “desperate” at that moment in time was his behaviour? No. And you know why? Because a drag queen trumps a queen any day, hunty! You might wonder how that is? But it soon became clear…
That’s called karma babe.
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>> The Definition of (Gay) Karma
>> The Circle of (Vauxhall) Life
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