The other day, I needed some freshly cut rib eye steaks. I went to the grocery store where I always buy my steaks, and told the butcher what I wanted. Incidentally, the butcher is gay. I like the way he cuts rib eye’s, and that’s all, if you know what I mean. I could care less about his sexual orientation. I’m also not rattled by his sexual preferences. Basically, he’s a pretty good guy, so long as he remembers that I like women, and don’t like men the way he likes them.
I told him what I wanted, and asked if I could come pick them up later in the day. His response was,
“I’ll go ahead and cut these rib eye’s for you, and you can pick them up later. I won’t be here. I have to go to a wedding tonight. A friend of mine is getting married, and I have to be one of the bridesmaids.”