Ahmed the Cross Dresser

I have a special gift. I'm blessed. People tell me things. Random people. In weird places. Tell me personal things. I can't help it. I don't know why.

The guy at the next table in Taco Bell told me that was his second wife that just left. They're both in the military and are having some marital problems. They'll probably get a divorce but he doesn't want to. The greeter in Wal-Mart told me his neighbor has seven dogs that he hates. Thank goodness they're getting evicted next week. The woman at the return counter pointed to the scratches criss crossing her arms (her legs apparently are worse) and told me she has six cats that scratch her as she sleeps but they don't wake her up unless they bite her big toe. The scratches itch like crazy because cats walk in the litter box and then when they scratch you... (Does she really want me to tell her to lay off the bottle?)

My hubby always wants to know how that came up. I don't know. It just does. My major in college was going to be psychology until I thought better of it. But at least if it had been my career I would have been paid for it and it wouldn't have been nearly as awkward socially.

Maybe the CIA could use my services. Just plop me down in a coffee shop in Istanbul and voila. You know that Ahmed is a cross dresser. Prime blackmail material.