"Did the mailman have red hair?" said the man in front of me in line, implying that my ex-wife had sex with a mailman and then she had my daughter, who has bright orange hair.
We were in line to get ice cream. I was with my illegitimate bastard, and the guy was a total stranger in line in front of me.
It was neat how he asked about my sex life and the legitimacy of my child all in one question.
I'm cool with that.
I said to him, "Yes, as a matter of fact, he did." Which is true. The mailman had red hair back then, when I lived in Tribeca, before I lost my home and all my money and dignity. And now, this man was kind enough to remind me of that.
Maybe my girl, whose affection I am buying with sugar, is not even related to me, and I've just revealed my deepest secrets to this total stranger who felt comfortable asking me about my sex life with my ex-wife.
I'm proud of me.
For no real reason.
As one reviewer of my magnum opus Choose Yourself! recently said,...
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