Wow - David hasn't been eaten by monkeys yet!

I just went to the grocery store. Of course, I couldn't just leave home dressed any old way - I had to dress for the grocery store.

This is of course a side-effect of living in a gay ghetto. The good part is that there's plenty of eye candy on the street. The bad part is that you have to dress to be seen every time you go outdoors or else risk being treated like a leper.

A couple of weeks ago, during Pride weekend, I discovered that sometimes you have to dress to be seen even if you're not going outdoors. I got on the elevator in my building to take some recyclables down to the bins in the building loading dock. I had just thrown on a baggy old t-shirt and I hadn't even done my hair yet. Inside the elevator was the guy who teaches the Tuesday night ab class at the gym. I was mortified - I wanted to explain or to vanish into a puddle of slime or something. I was sure he was going to yell something like, "Hey! Why do you bother going to my ab class if you're just going to wear baggy t-shirts? I banish you from my class...forever!!" and make some sort of highly impressive banishing gesture.

He didn't say any such thing though. He just said, "Hi," or maybe, "Hey," or maybe even, "Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious." I was too busy trying to melt into a puddle of slime to hear what he said.

I've learned my lesson. There are only two acceptable ways to go to leave the apartment: in a fitted t-shirt or tank top, or carrying a bell and ringing it periodically while shouting, "Unclean! Unclean!"