Every one of these classic drawings is worth a considered caption! One in particular (among so many to choose from) is the one of the couple on the couch filming the dancing boy. I’d picture the dialogue going something like this:
“Oh, Big Burt! Isn’t my little Billy just the most adorable, swishy, prissy, cutest lil’ ole thing EV-UH? You were asking me how a girl like me would ever marry a boy like him, and to answer your question I wanted to show you his gentle, vulnerable, sweet-as-molasses, tender-as-a-tulip side. He’s as graceful and feminine as a prima ballerina in the role of Swan Lake’s Odette. My little dolly just brings tears of joy to my eyes, he does.”
“Ha ha, yeah babe, he brings tears to my eyes too – tears of laughter, that is. I’m sorry, but I just don’t get where you’re coming from. You tend to see the very best in people, but I’ve always been a dead-eyed realist. To be brutally honest, your Billy-boi looks like a sissy fag doing uber-girly ballet moves in dance shoes and a tutu – with even a rose in his bright-red lipsticked mouth for cryin’ out loud!”
“He’s not attracted to men, so he’s not a sissy fag. No, Billy’s my sissy cutie. Big Burt, you do know the reason I sleep with you, right? You’re the manliest rock-hard ten-inch tumescent titanic titanium towering stud I’ve ever been rammed by. There’s a place in me that only you fill – both literally and emotionally – that my poor sweet femmy sissy Billy with his two-inch Certs roll cockette can never even come close to fulfilling. Try to be empathetic enough to put yourself in his satiny beribboned pointe ballet slippers for just a moment, Big Burt.”
She continued, warming to her topic, “You pump iron or rebuild transmissions or add on rooms to the house or play tackle football or chop firewood or go hunting or watch sports with your buddies – or RAM me! – in order to relieve stress and have fun. By comparison, what is our poor Billy stuck with for recreational activities? Well, for self-relaxation he has his crocheting, knitting, floral arranging, sewing, and embroidery. With me and the girls he has shopping ‘therapy’, club tennis, spa and salon days, and dance lessons. My point simply being this, Big Burt. Your world is not his. He sees in you all of the things, all of the masculinity, all of the strength and power and drive and manly self-assurance that he craves but cannot possess. He sees the way society respects you, at night in his cold lonely bed he hears the way that my basest animalistic urges of involuntary primordial lust respond to you, and the poor green-eyed monster of jealously just eats the poor little fella apart. He is truly to be pitied.”
She continued her well-considered oratory, “But for all that overabundance of testosterone (not that I’m complaining about THAT, mind you!), you have a good brain and an even-handed personality. You’re no apelike mindless knuckle-dragger, Big Burt. If you were, then I’d simply enjoy a single one-night stand with you before sending you packing. But if we’re actually going to make this new family dynamic work for the long haul, then I can’t have you constantly berating my Billy in that ugly way. Teasing him a good bit is great – hey, I like to do a lot of that myself – but don’t go over the line. If you do, I will actually defend him, believe it or not. He may never get to the point of actually liking you, although I’ve made it clear to him that I really want him to – but you had better make a better effort of at least appearing to like him, even if you can’t at all respect him. Figuratively, I expect you to be Billy’s daddy while I’m the mommy. Be firm (not tyrannical) in disciplining him, but you need to be fair too.”
Burt looked a little surprised. “And here I was thinking you were getting ready to divorce his sissy pantied ass, since it sure doesn’t look like you respect him. I mean, you put him in a tennis dress and insist he play ladies’ doubles on public courts with you and your two sisters. You four have a standing weekly appointment at the salon for a roller set and comb-out, followed by marathon clothes and shoe shopping. I built that add-on room and put in the dance barre and lined the walls with floor-to-ceiling mirrors so that you and your sisters could put him in leotards and tights and teach him ballet – which he seems to have picked up rather easily. He’s a sissy, no doubt, but even I have to admit he’s an exceptionally lithe, limber, well-coordinated sissy with excellent balance and cardiovascular endurance. And holy cow, you even shaved his body, made up his face, painted his nails and rouged his nipples too? Give him a vagina and a pair of tits and he’d be every bit as girly as even you and your knockout sisters!”
She giggled involuntarily, but was no more successful in restraining her laughter than she was in feigning anger as she slapped Big Burt playfully, “You’re horrible, and hush up! Seriously, don’t be so loud. He’ll hear you, and the poor dear is already self-conscious enough as it is. This has been a very rough year for him, what with you moving into the master bedroom and him moving out into the spare room that I redecorated with the rose wallpaper, pink shag carpet, white frilly canopy bed with lavender bedspread and all my old dolls and stuffed animals arranged in and amongst my rather girly-girl childhood bedroom set.”
Burt grinned, “Yeah, and not to mention all your hand-me-downs that stayed in that spare room’s closet and you’re now insisting he make use of “just to save money”. It was kind of tough to take him as a serious base-running threat when he came up to bat in softball at the company picnic in your old blue short-shorts with the white star print, plus your old midriff cami top with the red-and-white horizontal stripes.”
“Hey, it was the 4th of July, and when he made a catty, snide, uncalled-for remark about you having been a Marine … well, I simply felt that it was my duty as a patriotic American to re-instill some basic pride in his country and for the people – like you – who served so valiantly in our armed forces.”
Burt laughed aloud, “Oh yeah baby, you’re SOOOO noble!” They high-fived and laughed aloud together as the classical music snippet finally stopped playing. In silent exhausted misery, Billy finished the dance solo his wife and sisters-in-law had painstakingly taught him, step by miserable emasculating step. He knew better than to unfreeze from his finished routine-ending position until his wife said he could.
She was smiling and clapping, “Great job, Billy, you’ve come so far! There’s just a few rough spots we need to clean up and iron out before you’re ready to perform it (in one of my old G-rated dance recital costumes, of course!) in front of everyone at the family reunion next month.”
As Burt’s immensely big and incredibly strong massaged her groin with firm yet surprisingly gentle ministrations, Billy’s wife continued, somewhat flushed and out-of-breath. “Sweetie-pie, mommy and daddy need to spend some grown-up time alone. Take this tripod and camera into the dance room and set it up for a wide angle shot in the corner. For at least an hour, I want you to film yourself practicing your leaps, pirouettes and plies en pointe. I’ll view the film later and critique you at that time … now GO, and DO NOT disturb us!”
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