You're what? You're gay? Gay? You? You like men, that's what you're telling me right now? Hold on, hold on. That is fucked up. That is-- Oh, oh no. No, get away from me. No, I don't need help. I just need to sit down.
So, let me get this straight. You like men. Men. With dicks. Hairy chests. Men. You look at a naked woman, you feel nothing? Nothing?! Oh my Lord, I have never.
Have long have you known this? Was it before I hired you? Since you were 15?! 15, are you joking? And you've fucked a man, that's safe to assume? How many? Just tell me how many, I deserve to know how many!
Where the fuck do you get off not telling me a thing like that? It never occurred to you?! It never occurred? Motherfucker that should have the first thing you said when you walked through that door for your interview. When I called your ass to make the appointment, your answer should have been, "I like men, what time?"
What do you mean I should have known? Don’t you dare, don’t you dare try and make this my fault. Oh I see, so a man walks into my house with drape samples and a book of carpet swatches talking about awnings and accents and negative space, I should immediately assume he likes men! Well, I stand corrected.
Hints? What hints? I didn’t hear no hints. I heard you say you had a wife, that’s what I heard. Andy can be a woman’s name, I know plenty of Andies. You still said wife. Oh, that was just an expression. Well, in my world, wife don’t mean a man. In my reality, wife is an expression that means “lady in a white dress with a pussy.”
What’s that? Do you act masculine? Why the fuck are you asking me that? Answer the question? Fine, I’ll answer the question. No. No, you don’t act particularly masculine, but that ain’t exactly a red flag. What is a red flag? I don’t know, it’s—what? Is clapping your hands when you laugh a red flag? Shit, I know plenty of men who do that, you’re trying to tell me they’re all gay? Little Ricky down at the florists, you’re trying to tell me he likes men. What? Bullshit. Bull. Shit. How you know that? You did what? Oh my lord in heaven, soon as I’m done with you Ricky and I gonna have a little chat. About what? About honesty, motherfucker, heard of it!
Why am I so upset? I’ll tell you why. Because not two days ago, you were in that living room taking measurements, I walked past you in nothing but a Julianne Ray see-through chemise, and when you turned your head to admire my backside I felt reborn. Little do I know when you looked at my ass you were thinking of Denzel Washington. What? My ass looks better than Denzel’s? See, now you’re fucking with me, trying to get on my good side. Uh-uh, it ain’t that easy.
Wait a second, how the fuck would you know what Denzel’s ass looks like. Bullshit you have! Motherfucker, that is not funny. No you did not, you are lying. Oh my fucking god, I’m calling Oprah.