Here’s another one of my secret shames I’m willing to blab all over the internet: although I got the gene that makes boys queer (in spades baby)I missed out on that portion of it which allows the gays to spot dick. Darn DNA. While my gay brethren are able to scope out scrotum in the dark, around corners, in a blizzard and when lead-shielded, I am completely oblivious. I just don’t see it. No matter the size of the moose-knuckle, I always miss it. They might has well be wearing a burkha.
My friends have long since become accustomed to my insensibility to male anatomy no matter how beguilingly displayed. Let me recreate a dialogue, originally delivered in tones of pity and exasperation:
“Did you see that?”
“That guy’s box. He had the crotch cut out of his jeans with his dick painted silver and big pink bow tied around it.”
“No kidding? Really? I didn’t see it.”
I hate it when my friends roll their eyes like that.
But I’ve decided to take control of my life. First, I’ve admitted my handicap, soon I’ll organize a support group. But you can do your part. I’m here to announce the creation of Mrpeenee’s Alliance for the Basket Blind. Won’t you help?