Pancakes and bizarre sexual deviancy

Late tonight I had a hankerin' for some tasty vittles, so I scooted on down to the local IHOP for a jalapeno omelet. The place was pretty empty: just me, a trucker, the waitress and the cook. Then the transsexual hooker walked in, with a guy who I really hope knew what he was doing. This wasn't one of those transsexuals where you look and say, "That might not be a woman." This was plain as day. You see, I was blessed with an eye for subtle details that escape the notice of ordinary people. For example:

• She was about 6-foot-2.
• She was built like a brick shitter.
• She had a five o' clock shadow.
• And an Adam's apple.

But I've got to hand it to Peggy Sue; what she lacked in skill she made up in determination. She had on a ridiculous miniskirt, high heels and a big red wig. She walked with an exaggerated feminine gait and spoke with an exaggerated feminine voice. The kicker was the exaggerated feminine pickiness. She and her, um, dining companion tried three different tables before settling on one. I guess they wanted the perfect view of a nearly vacant parking lot. Peggy Sue ordered a normal breakfast -- bacon, eggs and toast -- but with weird stipulations. Every item on a separate plate. One scrambled egg, one fried. One piece of wheat toast, one piece of white toast. In the 20 minutes I was there, Peggy got up to use the ladies room twice. She didn't shave either time.