I was stunned and saddened to see the news this morning that Boy George had been charged with false imprisonment. Okay, maybe I wasn’t stunned. I mean, I’ve always been a big fan of Sister George, but that’s not a pretty fella. And while I’m not advocating false imprisonment, how else is a fat old drag queen going to get a pretty young Scandinavian model to stay for tea?
And why saddened, you ask? Well, if you had seen the photos of me in New Orleans, prancing around with an Amy Winehouse wig on, you’d say, “But you ARE a fat old drag queen!” (It seemed perfectly appropriate at the time, belting out “Rehab” while drunk at 2 in the afternoon.)
Fortunately, I’m lucky enough to have found my beloved, someone who can make me giggle in my dotage and who can actually tolerate my mercurial moments.
And I keep an ankle monitor on him at all times. Some might call THAT imprisonment. I call it love.