One memorable night getting ready to go to the bar:
We had been going to the bar a lot, often enough to be considered regulars. This one time, after a rather long lazy day, Mr. Str8 realized the time, and was afraid we would be ‘late’ (as if showing up before midnight was late). He proceeded to rush us to get ready. As it was customary, I showered first (I take less shower time, more prep time). Once all dressed, and mere moments from leaving, (after being half an hour ‘late already’)…
I find Mr. Str8 standing in front of the mirror, obsessively trying to do something with his hair. With mumbled curses, grunts, and a rather comical expression, he was getting angry. I was nearly barreled down as he stormed off into the bathroom.
I was left standing in diva stance, waving a hand about, wearing a deadly expression on my face. “Ah, hello? You yell at me saying we’re late…WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
“I can’t go looking like this. My hair won’t do what I want, so I’m washing it again.”
And I’m the diva….????