The weatherman hosting the bike rally made a joke about a woman he met in Key West, who turned out to be a transvestite. TBB didn’t think it was funny, so a discussion with the manager, and a note to the talent later, saying call me for education or I talk to management at your station, she moved on.
She was flirted with by a big biker, and then challenged by his friend, who looked askance and asked how tall she was.
“Five twelve,” TBB responded.
“Oh my God! Six feet!” he said.
“Didn’t you hear me?” TBB asked. “I said that I’m five foot twelve.”
He was discomforted, but TBB just hugged onto her biker pal and said, “We are just a couple of weirdos, right, gorgeous.”
He agreed, smiling and TBB moved on.
She wanted to tell me one thing: Being big feels good to her, feels right. She gets it.
And I get that I need her to be big and brilliant, and that her strength is a gift to me, just as she sees my insight as a gift to her.
Bigger is always better. It looks good on TBB.
And I hope, not withstanding the fact that the guy who sold me the wine tonight who wouldn’t meet my eyes, that it looks good on me too.