The issue with being a woman's gay friend is that she will always look to you for your honest opinion. You can smoothly tell her that her ass doesn't look quite right in those pants, or that her boobs are too big for that top, or that her hair color looks like vomit. You can slaughter her with all these things and still be the best of friends, because she expects you to be truthful. Unlike straight men who have to worry about whether or not they're going to get any sex after they reply, we can just comment away and then troupe down to the nearest Starbucks for a celebratory latte for our latest purchase.

Some of my gal pals have been exposed to my rather direct commentary on their clothes. Mind you, if you're going to be seen in public with me, you are going to make an effort to look good. I will not have someone's lack of fashion sense make me look bad in any way - I don't care if I have to drag you into a store by your hair. So on several occasions when my gals have asked me what I have thought about this dress, or how they look in this top, I have been pretty much straightforward with them:

Her: (holding up lace black top) What do you think of this cool top?
Me: Ladies and gentlemen, slut at 3 o'clock!

Her: Oh I love this dress...look at the print - it's so nice and bright!
Me: I'm sorry, I didn't know Cirque du Soleil was hiring...

Her: Does my ass look too big wearing this?
Me: Which one?

Her: You're so mean!
Me: And your point it?


I still want to know why they don't make Barbie flat-chested. I mean, do you really want to instill the debate of cup size into a little girl? Why do you think Ken has no crotch? Mattel doesn't want boys to worry about their endowment at such a young age - yet what they fail to realize is that the little boys are already grinning because they have something that Ken doesn't - elastic underwear.

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