The stocky young man drinking at the bar was so gullible, he accepted it as the honest truth when his pretty date, Evangeline, had said she was female. After all, why would she lie? What he didn't know was that she was a taker and only after his money. And even though he'd said he was 5'10" and she liked men to be taller than that, she had accepted Bob's dinner invitation because he'd boasted that he was athletic and rich. He was, in reality, neither.
As the night wore on it became obvious that Evangeline had lied about her age, being a lot older than 25 which is what she had said online. But Bob said nothing about it. He, an avowed Democrat completely lacking a sense of humor, would not find it funny if she admitted to shaving off about ten years. Evangeline understood that so kept quiet about being 35, and certainly about being transgender. That news would have to wait.
Little by little Bob started noticing things that were odd about Evangeline. Like her hairy knuckles. And if he looked closely, a bit of a five-o'clock shadow. "Oh well," he thought, "so she's got an excess of male hormones. I can relate to that. At least she's not fat." They ordered appetizers.
In the end it was Evangeline, nee Evan, who blew the raspberry on the date when she/they confirmed, through further conversation that Bob was in fact a Republican. Altered genitals paled in comparison to that! She stood up to leave and Bob asked for her half of the bill. "You mean you're not even rich?" he/they fairly shrieked.
"Well if you're 25 I'll eat my hat," Bob yelled back.
"Well, if you're not bald I'll eat your toupee!" Evangeline screamed. "And I have news for you, you are not even close to six feet tall!" She/they stormed out.
Bob left the restaurant happy. Evangeline had been so distracted by the shaved head underneath his wig that she hadn't picked up on the fact that he was actually female. He felt great, except for his menstrual cramps. "Damn period, I hate it," he thought to himself, glad he hadn't worn white pants.
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