Here I am last night at one of my preferred watering holes when in walks Chrissy.

A little about Chrissy.  I remember when Chrissy was Chris, the kind of fruity guy who had the “At Your Home” dog grooming service.  (Yeah, a hairdresser.  Go figure.)  Now he has implants, hormone shots, bikini waxes, but still hasn’t had the “operation.”

A lot of us regulars know Chrissy, and watch with amusement as Chrissy starts cadging drinks from some schlub who has no idea what he is getting into.  Pretty soon they are cozied up in the corner, and having several snorts while getting more cozy. Soon Chrissy gets up, and acts flirty and walks out of the bar with a “don’t go anywhere” over his shoulder.

Probably the typical excuse of “needing cigarettes” from the stop and rob next door.  Actually, Chrissy is going there to use the unisex bathroom there.  The women know Chrissy here too, and management insists that Chrissy use the Mens Room at the bar.  Which would blow Chrissy’s cover.

So as John Q. Random walks up to order a couple drinks I lean over and say, “Um - you do know that Chrissy there is a girl with something extra, don’t you?”

The guy looks at me and just says, “unh?”  (Perfect imitation of Tim Allen.)

I point to my throat “Check the Adam’s Apple.  Dude, she’s a dude.”

The guy turns white, and changes his order to one drink.  He goes and sits down, looking stunned, and momentarily s/he/it returns.  There is a heated exchange, and the only words that come through are “Just go away.  Go the fuck away, you fucking queer, and leave me the fuck alone.”

In a perfect snit, after collecting his bag, Chrissy comes to where I am sitting and says “Fucker, what business is it of yours?!”

So I turn - after as insolently as possible draining my beer - and look Chrissy in the eye, and say “Yanno, it’s called truth in advertising, and I may have just saved you from another asswhipping…” (Yeah, Chrissy has found out that when guys reach down under and find the wrong junk they tend to get  … disconcerted.) “…so why don’t you just thank me instead?”

Chrissy bitches at me for a while while I periodically flip him the bird and say, “Do something about it then.  You feel froggy, by all means, jump.”  Until Paul - the bartender - invites him to go home.  Or spend the night in jail.

I swear to Christ, what is it with these people that makes them feel they are entitled to lie by omission to other people?