Don't you wanna wanna?

So I'm standing at a dollar per slice pizza stand somewhere over the rainbow (north of Chelsea) enjoying a greasy slice and an orange Fanta with a friend when this... I dunno, gangsta? hoodlum? not a munchkinlander... whatever, this kid with gigantic clothes and one of those stocking-looking things on his head turns to me and says "Hey, I don't wanna say nothin' rude or nothin', but are y'all gay?"

My friend was on his phone, and I could almost hear the gears shift in his head as he started ignoring his conversation and listening in on mine. Upon careful consideration of my situation and my chances of escape, I noticed the genuine curiosity in his eyes. Shocked that he could be so intuitive as to notice, I did a quick hair and eyeliner check in my reflection on his silver teeth and answered in a flat, wary affirmative. The following conversation ensued:

"Really? For how long? When did you turn gay?"
-"You don't turn gay, I've always been since forever."
(Since forever... real smooth.)
"So you be gay since you come outcho momma?"

At this point I considered explaining that people are neither gay nor straight until horomones and sexual desire kick in and that he was technically not straight until he first looked at a girl as a pre-adolescent and got that good down-low tickle, but I settled instead on:

-"Yeah, I guess basically, I mean y'know... essentially [mutter, awkward, not-a-gangsta uncoolness]..."
"Y'all don't like pussy?"
-"Not as such, no."
"Man, really? You ever had pussy before?"
-"Nope... never."
"Man, I can't believe you don't like pussy."

God, I wish he would stop saying that word. Anyway, instead of saying "I can't believe you don't like dick, man, maybe you just haven't tried it" and getting my ass kicked, I just said "I'm really ok with it." The conversation took a turn from there:

"So, you're a fudgepacker."
-Indignantly: "Excuse me?"
"Oh, that's rude, wasn't it..."
-"Yeah, that's rude. That's really rude, thanks."
"Sorry man."

I had no time to be satisfied with his apology because at that point his friend swiped the money he had left on the counter to pay, and my escape route was opened. I turned to my friend (still on the phone) and said "We're going. Now." I pulled my friend across the street leaving the remains of my Fanta shivering and alone on the ledge of the stand.

I couldn't believe my friend didn't save me for that conversation, but I realized he was probably getting back at me for earlier in the day when the Crazy Stinky Man at Starbucks cornered him and told him how they should donate all their travel mugs to the Salvation Army, and I just stood there laughing at him.

Needing a touch of gay to re-establish the balance, we then went to Chelsea for cupcakes where I fell in love with the boy at the bakery.

Last night I dreamt of Fanta and silver teeth.