Don't Forget The Little People

Last night the other half called me excitedly from his car to tell me all about the hot twink that had just served him at the drive-through window.

“You should have seen him” He gushed, “He had reddish auburn hair like that wig of yours, and tattoos all up his arms, but he was probably only 17 so he’d have to go on lay-by for a while.”

I sighed. “Well, if he’s got tatts then he has to be 18 at least.”

“Really?” I could hear the gears in the husbear’s mind racing to process the good news. “Are you sure? He sounded as gay as the hills.”

“I can only imagine the flirtation flying between the two of you. Why don’t you go back and pretend there was something wrong with your order, find out what time he knocks off and offer to give him a ride home?” For those who are struggling with the concept, that was laced with sarcasm.

“But he’s not your type” Came the dejected reply.

“Of course he’s not. Clearly he’s no bear, but he sounds like he’s right up your alley. I have no involvement, you go back there and have the time of your life, I’d hate for you to miss out” I shot back.

“You know somewhere out there there’ll be a bearded midget, and when I see him I’ll bring him home for you and I to share.” He soothed. Aww, bless his furry little heart. He really was paying attention all those times I dropped hints about my midget fetish and my penchant for facial scruffage.

So what should happen, not 20 hours later? Two of my co-workers approached me, having just returned from a road-test. “We just saw the perfect man for you.” They claimed.

“Do tell” I replied, dubiously.

“Well, he was this tall” and they both indicated a spot somewhere around the four-feet-from-the-floor mark. “And… he had a scruffy little beard.”

“You’re fucking with me aren’t you?” I accused.

“Nah, we’re not. I would’ve taken a photo, but I was driving. He was just on Chapel Street if you’d like to go and find him” One of them suggested.

I toyed with the idea but decided to let it go, then I relayed the story of last night’s events, which had them in stitches, both declaring that they’re in a lot of trouble, if they turn up looking clean shaven and boyish when my other half is around, they’ll end up attracting his attention, whereas should they go for a scruffy look they’ll have me to contend with.

I eyeballed them from top to toe and sneered. “Nah, doesn’t matter what you do lads – you aint going to raise my pulse in a hurry!” I quipped.

“It’s not your pulse I’m concerned about raising” came the reply.

Touché, but enough outta me… I’ve got a fuzzy-midget to find.