the WC

I went to a bar miles outside my usual stomping grounds last night for a birthday party. The main reason I don’t like going far afield is because I don’t dig drinking and driving a long distance. Drinking and driving less than five miles? No problem. Ahem. Anyway, another reason I don’t like going out of my comfort zone is because, inevitably, I’ll do something like walk into the men’s room. Like I did last night.

See, I asked where the restroom was. The problem is, I asked a man. Who naturally told me where the men’s room was. I didn’t bother looking up to read the sign, but when I saw a dude standing there, that was my clue. He seemed to think it was funny. Perhaps he’s never seen someone turn red that quickly.

Houstonist is having some technical issues at the moment, so I can’t link to today’s dilettante column. If you wanna read it (I talk, briefly, about Don Imus), scroll down to “Ask a Dilettante: Let Your Freak Flag Fly.”

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