It’s Not All Mary Poppins


I step out onto the back porch with a basket of wet laundry on my hip. A wolf-whistle cuts the air, and I look up to see my gay neighbour, Pierre, two doors up, waving at me from his yard.

“I know it’s a true compliment, coming from you,” I call over, “because I know you’re completely disinterested!”

He roars with laughter.

September 5, 2005 - Posted by | Uncategorized

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