When we walk across the parkin' lots, we're often hand in hand. The mullethead isn't necessarily in the middle. Anyone can get a kiss on the cheek, or forehead or whatever at any time, from any of us at a time. The mullethead gets slung over a shoulder and carted off as much as I do though it can't be done with my dear mentor. Logistical problems, bein' he's a bit bigger than both of us, but he will be led by the hand. We have identical expectations of ourselves, each other, and share all responsibilities equally. It works beautifully. Often one volunteers a little more of themselves to make the outcome get there faster, and they will be compensated for their efforts one way or another. We were the apex of a symbiotic relationship.
We also turn heads. People have no clue on what to make of us. For one thing, there's three of us. Also, most people mistake the mullethead for a. . .um. . .SAUSAGE CASIN' upon first lookin' at 'er. (The same has happened to me, though the other way around. It's a little easier to discern my gender, however; and I usually get profuse apologies a few seconds later.) Then they start to have doubts, and some of 'em get it right, and some of 'em don't. She doesn't correct 'em, and woe to either me or my mentor if we do. The guerrilla theatre that CHICK can do, has made me wish I could fade to nothin', then and there; though we do laugh about it later. . .again and again. Sometimes even me or my mentor will instigate a comedy show, though it will be with no obviously feigned hostilities.
Well, she really was one of us. Plumbin' designs don't account for much in everyday life with everyone. As far as I'm concerned, there's only one situation where they are relevant.
Thank the gods the people around here are progressive. It may be farm country, but when the nearest metro centre is one of the most 'liberal' parts of the country, it can mellow out some ancient, uncalled for bigotries.
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