Talking to a lesbian

My sink was blocked, and the pipes were leaking, so I called the letting agent who called the plumber who interrogated me about my sex life. So it goes. He started by asking if he could ask me a question. Yes, but I may not answer. He took an age, not seeming to find the words- I wanted to say, “spit it out, man” but left him to it. Then he told me he had seen my wigs- did I have cancer?



This is an entertaining post written in Clare's distinct style.  There's somewhat of a surprise at the end of the post.  I'm not going to say what it is, so you're just going to have to read Talking to a lesbian.