Help With Your Bags

(I pull up with groceries, as he rides up on his bicycle from work)
HIM: Hi honey.
ME: Help me with these bags
HIM: The ones in your car or the ones under your eyes?
ME: Joke all the way to the bank, because you’re paying Tim for my eye surgery. Cause you put these bags under my eyes!
HIM: I’m not old enough to have achieved such a monumental feat.
ME: This is not funny. Look at me. I look like something they dug up on an archeological dig in The Valley of the Kings.
HIM: Don’t you mean The Valley of the Dolls.
ME: Fine! So I did a few drugs in my life… your worse than Kewl Tie… I do LSD 70 or 80 times, spend a few months on a morphine drip and right away I’m a drug addict…
HIM: Wow… you’re so sensitive.
ME: Well you won’t believe what happened to me at the market. I was the victim of a hate crime.
HIM: What? What happened.
ME: The Checkout boy at Gelson’s called me ma’am!
HIM: Billi…people are still getting used to the fact that you are a man. I’m sure it was a slip of tongue…force of habit.
ME: THAT’S NOT WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT! I don’t care that he thought I was a woman. Everybody thinks that. I’ve given up on that.
HIM:Well then what’s the problem.
ME: Robert HE CALLED ME MA’AM. Do you know what an insult that is? I want you to go over there and beat him up.
HIM: Why didn’t you just beat him up?
ME: Because it’s not lady like to beat up men in public.
HIM: But I thought you were in your butch phase.
ME: I am, but I have to be practical. I don’t want to have to carry my own groceries to the car.

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