Injury to Insult

Previously on Diary of a Contemporary Dandy: During a rare moment of charity, Gayest Neil decided to throw a dinner for a group of Hurricane Katrina survivors he found hiding in his building's recycling bin. Unfortunately, everything was falling to pieces as his stylist left in a huff, the valet service absconded with his money and, much to the host's chagrin, television's Jay Manuel invited himself to the gala soiree.

Who really needs the charity, the homeless or Gayest Neil?

I descended the staircase into my foyer and began greeting the assembled guests who'd arrived. Gerard looked wonderful in a crisp emerald blazer and matching cummerbund. I pointed him in the direction of the parlor and asked little Tammy to put his coat in the closet; next arrived Etienne.

He and I shared small air kisses before introducing me to his latest conquest, a swarthy Mediterranean sailor he met on holiday in Lisbon. I spoke pleasantries to his towering escort only to receive a wide grin and an indelicate "Hi, hi" in return. He smelled of cigars and bourbon. I tingled. His name was Ludi.

Etienne informed me Ludi spoke no English but could sing the theme song to Popeye, which Ludi then did to the apparent amusement of Tammy who had stopped collecting guest's wet coats and umbrellas. I cut her a stern glance, silencing her laughter, and motioned Etienne and his sexy sailor into the parlor.

I heard a banshee's shriek and rolled my eyes. Jay Manuel had arrived.

"Girrrl I love what you've done with this old place. It's like Old South but with an edge. Ooh and your outfit, it's like Colonel Sanders but fiercer, like mod KFC with an edge! It really pops."

Had I eagle's talons I'd have torn out his throat and fed it to him only to pull it from the gurgling, bloody hole and feed it to him again! Instead, I smiled and graciously welcomed him into my home. Remember, decorum is always a dandy's friend.

"Jay Manuel. It is so very nice to have you here at my Hurricane Katrina Charity Dinner on behalf of Tyra Banks who couldn't make it tonight."

He smirked, "Whatever. Where's the wine?" I motioned him into the parlor. My big name celebrity guests continued to arrive in droves, DJ Matilda von Crumbcake, Roy (noticeably without Siegfried, gossip on that here), that midget woman from the Amazing Race, Mario Cantone and Dr. Jocelyn Elders. Last to arrive was Michaud. Not surprisingly, he was already drunk.

"Salut Neil. Have you gained weight?" He patted my backside and I pushed him away. Tammy snickered.

"Michaud, control yourself. This is a very special night. We're here to witness the dignity and resolve of these noble…" My voice trailed away as I noticed Jay Manuel rearranging the furniture in my parlor. No matter. I had goat shoulder in the oven!

Sadly that tender pet of the displaced refugees would never touch the palates of my guests. As I hefted the mammoth serving dish from the oven, I heard voices in conflict coming from the salon. Michaud was acting a fool and pestering Dr. Elders for condoms! The nerve.

It didn't stop there. He continued to pester and alienate all of my guests. He asked that little woman why her partner simply didn't buy a baby-backpack for her to ride in! How very rude. He said to Roy, "How do you turn a fruit into a vegetable? Have a white tiger drag him off of the stage!" Luckily Roy didn't hear the joke. I think he was overly medicated.

Well. I had witnessed enough of Michaud's churlish behavior. I asked Tammy to fetch his coat and umbrella. He was to leave at once.

That's when Michaud insulted me. He said my pussy smelled like cheese. THE NERVE! For him to imply that I have a pussy is derogatory enough. But for him to then imply that my imaginary pussy would be a filthy cesspool of rotten cheese scent is beyond malicious and cuts me to my very bone. I shrieked and began throwing decorative pinecones at the brazen brandy-soaked menace.

"OUT! OUT! OUT!" I screamed.

He replied, "Camembert. Gouda. Cottage. Pepper Jack!"

His verbal abuse elicited uproarious laughter from the assembled guests, the homeless most of all! The very people I was there to feed were mocking me. Ludi clapped his massive hands and began singing the Popeye theme with Tammy. I was outraged at Michaud's disrespect! I was equally upset at my guests sudden betrayal.

"That's it! Everyone out! The First Annual Hurricane Katrina Charity Dinner & Symposium is officially cancelled! OUT!"

And I threw everyone out. Michaud left first inviting everyone to follow him to his bistro where he'd arrange a private room and the best wine in New York for the guests. Etienne was last to leave and gripped my hand.

"Gayest Neil, you need to relax my friend. Why don't you smoke a little weed." And with that he followed my guests to Michaud's bistro. I took his sage advice and curled up on my seatee with a pan of meat and a bottle of vodka. That's the last thing I remember of the terrible night.

I awoke the next morning with a throbbing headache. I was still wearing my Colonel Sanders suit holding a stripped goat's shoulder bone. Two empty vodka bottles lay at my feet. On my doorstep was the morning paper and a basket of day lilies. They were from Michaud and there was a card.

"Swiss. Gruyere. Parmesan."

I hate him.