Recently I was labelled a homosexual on the basis of knowing what a doily is. Yes, that's right, I am aware of crocheted placemates and thus I have a desire to be intimate with other men's winkies. Ridiculous.
[Disclaimer: I suppose I should point out that I'm not gay, although history has seen me often accused of it. Not that I consider it an accusation you understand, I was never even present at the Salem whoopsie trials. I like gay folks as much as I like everyone and I enjoy a manly hug. I just don't enjoy a manly bumming.]
The conversation went thus:
[location - nocturnal purveyor of high-quality meat products and sauted potatoes]
Woman to friend, pointing at his shirt - "that looks like a doily"
Friend - "what did you say?"
Me (helpfully) - "I think she said you were a doily"
Friend - "what's that?"
Me - "well, it's sort of like a knitted beermat"
Friend - "are you poof or somat?"
Me - "er...no"
[woman and friend collect food order and leave. I frown.]
I also know what a deviated septum is, however I have yet to be mistaken for a plastic surgeon with specialism in nasal reconstrutive surgery. Similarly I'm not a proctologist, however I do know when I am talking to an arsehole. Equally, I'm not a gynaecologist...
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