GONE FISHIN'

Yesterday as Big Bore and I were leaving Pet Co. in the big city with our new and improved cat litter pans, we both thought we were hallucinating. In the parking lot approaching the store was a person, gender uncertain, with the following get-up: long, flowing platinum hair, Elton John glasses, white fur stole, white hot pants cut up to the butt cheeks, black fishnet stockings over legs up to the eyebrows, and shiny gold calf-length boots with high heels. BB and I both did a double take, as did the man following us. BB started chuckling. She/he then turned and looked at the single man before entering the store. He looked away and hustled on to his truck. Yikes!

“What the hell was that?” BB asked. “A cross dresser?”

“I’m not sure, but it’s 38 degrees out and no matter if you’re female or male, it’s too cold to be prancing around in hot pants. Even if you‘re buying pet stuff.” We were both dressed in two layers of winterwear.

Big Bore thought she/he was probably just fishing for a hookup of a sexual kind.

“At a pet store?” I asked.

"Well, this IS Wichita," he said.

Fortunately, we were too hungry to return inside the store to check out the hot pants further. I don’t profess to understand the world of high fashion. Or low fashion, whatever the case may be. I don’t wanna know. Not even a nibble.