This past week I was kissed by the least competent cross-dresser I have ever seen.
I work with homeless youth for a living, and as such, often go to random places where free meals are being held so that I can say things like, “No, really, you do have court today. I don’t care that it’s National Waffle Day, that does not exempt you from showing up.”
I was at one of the early morning breakfast feeding spots for the homeless, when a stubble clad chin with enough make-up to stop a nuclear warhead sauntered up to me unsteadily in a pair of heels that may have been too "out there" for the 1980's.
"Good morning, darling!" the voice boomed from far above my head as a long mane of greasy hair was tossed over a shoulder and jingly accessories danced in a way that would give most small animals a seizure.
I made a small finger wave as I attempted to figure out something to say aside from, "Good heavens! Your eyeliner, it's gone rogue, it's trying to take over your face! Run for your life!"
Then suddenly he swooped down like a hawk going after a legless shrew. I had just enough time to turn my head before he planted a giant sloppy kiss on the side of my head.
Ilsa, an outreach worker from another agency who works primarily with the adult population, reached over smacked him and said, "No! Let her go! What have I told you, we don't kiss people we've just met!"
He let go, and unsteadily sauntered off, winking at me and nearly face-planting into a table.
A few minutes later, when I was using enough hand sanitizer on the side of my face to effectively disinfect a beluga whale, the main thought in my head was, "Well, the day can only improve from here."
I find it a little sad that that was my first and only thought. Not, "Holy crap what just happened!?" or "Did I accidentally take some LSD somewhere back there?"
No, my only thought was basically that with the bar set so low for my Wednesday, things could only improve.
I'm not entirely sure what this says about my life. I definitely have a habit of wandering into bizarre situations. Maybe it is kind of like how people who were raised on farms have become desensitized to the smells that make the rest of the civilized world want to yack, I think I have become desensitized to surreal, off the wall, crap happening to me.
I mean, I realize it is not in a person's normal day to watch dancing tweakers, or be delayed getting to work by dancing clowns or be told that they have "lovely lumberjack calves"(I’m still not sure if I want to take that one as a compliment or insult yet).
However, it really doesn't hit me how strange some of this stuff is until I tell someone else about it and they look at me like I've suddenly sprouted antenna and told them that my name is Gozer the Destroyer.
In any case, I wouldn't trade my myriad of crazy situations for the world. Then again, I do sometimes wish they wouldn't slobber as much.