LB + I were walking Zoe the other night, when an ugly black transvestite with a terrible weave almost stepped on her. Zoe--being the lover of all human beings--rushed to her. The transvestite got frantic, skipping away from Zoe like a clumsy ballerina.
--Um, please keep your animal away, she said, disgusted.
I started giggling.
--It's not funny, she said, a half a block past us, her feet pounding the sidewalk.
Then I really started cracking up. I mean, being told not to laugh is always a bad psychoprompt, especially when it's by an ugly transvestite with a really bad wig.
But maybe I got it all wrong. Maybe, Zoe had mistaken her wig for one of her cousins. I mean, they kinda looked alike in a big-fluffy-ball-of-fur-kinda-way. Another possibility: maybe I'm missing what's obviously one of the great unknown Ovidian stories of all time called "The Weave + the Shia-poo." So, um, what's the lesson then?