She's a He
Hey. Do you think she is alright?
My mate Daz pointed at the woman up ahead of us in the park.
I looked up from running after the Little Boom who was having a whale of a time in the park, running through the fallen Autumn leaves and scaring little dogs by chasing them with a stick.
Oh aye, she does look a bit mental?
I said, peering at the slightly mad looking old woman on the path just ahead of us. She was all crouched over with her hand out as if feeding a slightly invisible dog.
I leant down and gently prised the dog-beating stick from the Little Boom just in case he ran up and started thrashing the old woman with it. He could be a bit stick-happy at times.
Oh my goodness, she is beautiful!
The old woman called out in a cut-crystal posh voice.
She looked up at me with icy blue eyes and smiled. Her lips looking like two demented earthworms thrashing about in dried and cracked mud.
And look at that hair!! Isn't it absolutely gorgeous!
She straightened as we neared her.
You must be the proudest father in the whole world.
She tilted her head to the side as if to admire my many facets and I tried not to blush at the implied compliment to my doughty sperms.
Well, yes. I am quite proud...
I had only managed to start my soliloquy when I was rudely interrupted by this CrazyHorse.
Look at the colour of her hair. It's beautiful. Proper strawberry blonde isn't it?
She said whilst leaning down to tickle a frond of my big strapping boy's reddish hair.
She is delightful.
Well, she, is actually a he.
I said with a debonair swish of my son's dog-beating stick.
CrazyHorse jerked back as if stung.
What?! But she is a beautiful little girl?!
She gasped as if I had asked to borrow her pantyhose so I could strain my jam.
No. She's not, She is most definitely a he.
I said, smiling at my mate Daz in that universal if she goes berserk and tries to bite me, drop an elbow on her kind of way.
CrazyHorse drew back with a contemptuous sneer on her lips.
OH, I've heard of this. I think it is absolutely ridiculous.
She tutted loudly at me as if I had flown over her house with a flock of my friends and interfered with her television signal.
I swished my dog-beater back and forth and laughed.
It's not ridiculous, he really is a boy.
CrazyHorse turned purple as if she was fighting the urge to spit on me and call me a scurvy dog and stomped off muttering about modern parenting and the damage it causes to the children.
At the same moment, a woman walking by with her dog stopped and looked adoringly down at my son.
Oh my god, she is gorgeous, isn't she?
I raised an eyebrow at my mate Daz.
Yes. Yes she is.