Ambivalent Amphibian

After a vacation last spring, I returned to my New York apartment and found my towel, “Stripes,” missing. Fortunately, I had another and was able to dry myself after my regular morning shower. I searched high and low for Stripes. I was 30 minutes late to work because of my feverish search. I thought about Stripes all day. I returned home from work and began searching other rooms in my apartment. I found Stripes in my Hispanic, bi-sexual roommates' room, which he shared with a married man. Stripes was draped over a chair. “How did you get here, Stripes?” I asked myself.

I confronted Bi-Man. He denied taking Stripes. “This is my towel,” he said. I questioned him more. I asked for Stripe’s age, gender, height, and weight. Of course, Bi-Man failed my quiz and finally admitted to stealing my towel friend. I asked him to wash it and return it promptly. He refused. “I’ll just buy you a new one,” he said. Stripes must have grown on him as he did me. I hesitantly agreed. Weeks later, I was still Stripe stripped. So like the salamander he is, I entered his ambiguous room and stole my stolen towel. I hid Stripes in a safe place in my room. The next morning, I confronted Bi-Man as he opened the bathroom door after his morning shower. He stood in his underwear—dripping wet. It was the very same night that he bought me a new nameless towel.

Bi-Man also put a hole in my air mattress, “Betty.” She was a tall queen and so comfortable to sleep with. I noticed she was blowing air the moment I laid down to sleep. You see, Bi-Man stayed in my room while I was gone. I confronted him. He, of course, had no recollection of what happened. “It wasn’t losing air for me,” he said. After more questioning, he finally admitted to the problem. While I was away, Bi-Man stole my friend, Stripes, and burst Betty’s self-esteem! This time, however, he did not offer to remedy the problem.

I don’t have a problem with Bi-Man’s sexuality—it’s his morals that bother me.