So I was in the thrift store today, squeezing into some pants and a tacky one-dollar belt. I was eyeballing them in the mirror when a handsome, gay man strides by and intones “that’s HOT” in that dry, world-weary mary-way. And was just as suddenly gone. Hot, eh? Aren’t gay men by definition not supposed to find things hot on me? I had more or less made up my mind not to buy anything. But apparently, Lambchop is powerless to resist the endorsement of a gay man. No wonder nice boys don’t like me.