“The Drag Queen and the Dwarf”
by Coco Warbucks
The Greatest Joy in life for me is having a child. Being a mother has made me feel a love that I have
never felt before. The high of raising my four year old daughter is better to me than the Christmas
morning Santa brought me the Barbie Dream House. I had no idea however that would be the last
dream house I’d be receiving, as of now anyway. The feeling of being a mom is (sigh) enlightening.
The feeling of being a SINGLE mom is fucking frightening. Especially when you have been a stay at
home mom for 3 years. I never imaged while I was playing with my Barbie Dream House all those
years ago and dreaming of being Barbie, that Ken would develop a bad case of OCD and never want to
leave the house and when he did, it was to hump Barbie's Hawaiian friend Lelani.
NO I certainly wasn't prepared for my husband's penis to become the enemy and the reason I found
myself working for a Drag Queen Chef. The night I found out my husband cheated on me with a one
legged horse...no, well that is how I see her in my mind, I punched him in the scrotum and updated
my Facebook status with the words "My Husband is having an affair with a dirty one legged horse". I
took it down an hour later; realized airing dirty laundry on Facebook probably wasn't the best
example to set for my daughter. Especially when you get responses like, "better luck next time", and
16 likes. So, instead I retreated to my sanctuary, the place "where everybody knows my name, and
their always glad I came".... My own Cheers — only instead of bar nuts, they serve sushi and there are
hipsters at the bar instead of Norm and Cliff.
Entering the little bar restaurant would change my life in ways that are… so twisted. I ran in and I
told my adopted family of my pain and cried and drank wine and that is when a familiar voice said
“you need to come work for me girl"!!
It was Aunt Arthur… a friend who happened to be both a celebrity chef and Drag queen. She…he
needed a personal assistant. I was a regular at one of his eateries as was my daughter. She literally
called him "Aunt Arthur.". He had a growing fondness for my daughter and her uncanny fashion
sense—she loved to play dress up and so did he.
He even offered to let me bring my daughter with me when I worked with him. It was mostly working
at his home office and running errands, which he said I could easily just do with my daughter in tow.
BUT I had watched one assistant after the other crumble under his heavy stiletto heel, so I was
hesitant. Still, I needed to think about making money and taking care of my little lady, and myself. An
employer who provides such flexibility, how could I pass that up? Besides I'm from Brooklyn, I'm
tough, how hard could it be to work for a gay chef who wears ladies panties?
So that night I decided to take Aunt Arthur up on his offer. I agreed to start Monday however Arthur
needed me to fulfill my first task ASAP. "Coco, I need you to go to Hustler and pick me out a dildo" I
haven't had sex in a long time and an old boyfriend is coming to town and I need to stretch my
butthole out."
Wow! Too Much Information? Yeah, it was for me too!
Beads of sweat started forming from my forehead all the way down around my neck—like a nuse. All I
could think was sweet Jesus, these are the errands I will be taking my sweet little girl on? I mean I am
a very open minded person, but trying to explain to a 3 year old why she can't play with the shiny
vibrating wand or the fuzzy bracelets, was not a topic I was prepared to address.
BUT I needed this job and thought this was probably just an unusual request. Plus Aunt Arther said my
daughter could stay with him for this errand. I swallowed hard and managed to force a smile, "Um
sure. Okay um well what size small, medium or large? Any color preference"?
“I leave the executive decision to you.” Auntie said. “Just make sure you pick one with a good texture.
I just hate one that is too pinchy.? You know what I mean, right?" Figure it out, just figure it out".
Arthur said.
I thought "NO I don't know!!" It's not like I had many past employer's call me in their office to discuss
dildo purchasing. Still I hid my sheer embarrassment and said ok.
At first bringing my daughter with me was perfect. Arthur and Darian (my daughter) bonded. He even
made her a little green sequened gown to match his.
When I told my grandma about the new job and direction my life was suddenly taking she said, in her
very raw 94 year old catholic Italian persona, "Oh my Gawd you have Darian around a gay, ooooh
maybe she might turn gay. Look what happened to that butane (means slut in Italian) Cher's daughter
she was so gay she changed into a man. Oh well! Your mother told me he is rich maybe he will change
his mind that he's gay and marry you".
As time went on grandma's witless suggestion became semi true. After months of working for Arthur
our working relationship had become a dysfunctional co-dependent marriage, except there was no
sex, we shared each other's make up and I dined on the stress of making him happy.
His demand's became increasingly ridiculous like the Sunday (my supposed day off) he called me up
frantic that he lost his diamond ring in a gay bar… ‘he thought.’ He was on the verge of tears and
begged me to retrace his steps. I agreed because by this point I was used to the very nice salary he
paid me, I was still able to have Darian with me and he was very generous. I often received gifts from
him. Free food, Free Clothes, free WINE which I needed badly, after a day of shopping for enema kits
and firing staff members. He put me in charge of giving the ax to his employees because the last time
he unleashed his wrath to a very large male carpenter his wig fell off and his fake nail flew into the
face of Jose. Jose laughed and called him a fat pig and Arthur stayed in bed for 3 days and ordered me
to feed him cabbage soup and lemon water for 3 days.
When I asked why we were firing THAT person, Arthur said he had painted the dining room the wrong
color yellow. Of course he hasn’t told him what the right color yellow was, just "to figure it out."
Guess he figured wrong. The painter had picked a ‘bumble bee yellow’ and Arthur was acting like he’d
been stung by it — I remember him screaming, “fuck my life everyone is out to get me."
So anyway there I am on Sunday morning in a very seedy gay bar on all fours looking around for his
ring that he may or may not have dropped. And by the way he came with me but he was too
traumatized to look himself he would just point out the spots that he was standing or dancing in and
cover his eyes and dramatically say "you look, you look" and I would proceed to crawl around the
floor looking. I found some pretty interesting items on the sticky floor of that gay bar, but none were
his ring. From there we visited Athen's diner, his house twice, the local pawn shop to see if anyone
had sold it, Harris Teeter and all 3 of his restaurants.
After 2-and-a-half-hours of looking I told him it was no use and to chalk it up to a lesson learned. I
breathed a sigh of relief because now l could go home and spend some quality time with my
daughter. "Umm where are you going"?!! he said. Last night I had some people over and this drag
queen from Chicago drank too much and threw up on the couch and the floor" "AND"?!!! I said "Well
the maid won't come in, it is her day off can you clean it?"
I was so mad!!!! I actually heard the blood in my veins boiling that is how angry I was. I was about to
tell him to shove this job up his well stretched out ass, but I needed to keep working for me and
Darian, at least until I found something better. "FINE"! I cleaned it while he laid on the other couch
moaning and saying "Fuck my life" no one understands me, I am a visionary."
"Fucking Visionary", I mumbled under my breath, if visionary means spoiled brat born into a wealthy
family who whose spanx are too tight and has skid marks in his underwear than that is the correct
definition of visionary.
When I was done cleaning up the up chuck of Holly Hobbles and was headed toward the door, he said
"Wait, why are you abandoning me? I need you to choose a new color yellow for the dining room" I
don't know what to pick , you need to figure it out"...He wanted me to choose sunflower yellow or
Rockerfeller corn. I knew that it didn't matter what color I picked. If he hated it in the morning I would
be fired and at this point I didn't care! I picked daffodil surprise and he loved it! Weeks went by and I
continued to work for Arthur. There were days that I found the job interesting and challenging like
when he would take me to tv appearances with him and pedicures after. There were also days where I
felt like I had been through shock therapy. Days where he was simply frantic because he was traveling
and could not decide which Louis Vuitonn bags went with his wardrobe choices. Those were the days
where I had to work overtime taking polaroids of him in various outfits holding different bags. We
would sit there for hours studying them and deciding which garments would be worthy of packing and
which ones I would lug to goodwill because they made him look "too fat to live". Or my particular
favorite on nights he had special caterering events he would call me up every time without fail and
say, "Fuck my life I forgot that I needed bok choy but I need a specific kind the one they only sell at
that store that is 20 minutes away but they close in 10 minutes. I need it, so figure it out. You need to
get there"
I was now finding myself hiding in the bathroom smoking cigarettes any chance I got. I was Humpty
Dumpty just sitting up on that wall waiting for my shell to crack. My synthetic gay marriage had now
turned into a mother child relationship.
I now had two children—a three-and-a-half-year-old girl and a 50-year-old-deviant drag queen son.
The 50 year old constantly asked "does my ass look fat in this shiny pink dress?" and the female 3 year
old would demand" "Mommy do a puppet show while I wear Aunt Arthur’s shiny pink dress" .
One day while I was working for Arthur in his downstairs office. I heard Dari and him arguing. When I
went upstairs they were in his drag closet eating cookies and fighting over a wig. "She got pink
frosting on my favorite wig"!! "Well what are you two doing in here eating cookies anyway"?!!! I just
cleaned this closet out" I said. How many times do I have to tell you both no eating cookies in the drag
closet"!!
Okay I just heard what I said and repeated it in my mind," I just cleaned this closet out, How many
times do I have to tell you both no eating cookies in the drag closet?!!"
This wasn't normal, was it? I also noticed that the cookies they were eating were pink frosted penis
sugar cookies! Before I could say anything my sweet little girl looks at me and said "Mommy can you
just buy me my own new wig?" "Dari I just bought you a wig 2 days ago, you can't get another right
now, maybe next month."
"Fuck my Life", my three-year-old daughter said. That was the profanity that broke the drag queen's
back!"
“Arthur, I said, I can't work for you anymore" and I picked up my little girl and walked out of Arthur's
life… for good. I had quit a couple of times before but we both knew this was really the last dance. As
Arthur turned up the Alicia Key's song "No One" which we listened and sang together every Monday
morning before we planned my duties for the week, He sang to me as a swan song, "I just want you
close so we can stay forever, you can be sure, that it will only get better, you and me together
throughout the days and nights I don't worry cause everything's gonna be alright...." We gazed at each
other both with tear's in our eyes, but we nodded and let each other go.....
I do have Arthur to thank for the new jobs I soon found. I did so much writing for him, blogs,
marketing campaigns that I found my nitch as a freelance writer. I can still work from home and be
there for my daughter; only I don’t have to clean poopy underwear (Arthur's) or answer the question,
"Did I tape my balls up good enough, can you see them through this gown?"
During that time, I learned a lot about Toddlers and drag queens and that there is really no difference
between working for a drag queen and being the mom of a three-year-old. Both are always starving
for attention, crying, pooping, throwing up and singing way too many Gaga tunes.."oooohh, ohhhh
caught in a bad romance"...
by Coco Warbucks
The Greatest Joy in life for me is having a child. Being a mother has made me feel a love that I have
never felt before. The high of raising my four year old daughter is better to me than the Christmas
morning Santa brought me the Barbie Dream House. I had no idea however that would be the last
dream house I’d be receiving, as of now anyway. The feeling of being a mom is (sigh) enlightening.
The feeling of being a SINGLE mom is fucking frightening. Especially when you have been a stay at
home mom for 3 years. I never imaged while I was playing with my Barbie Dream House all those
years ago and dreaming of being Barbie, that Ken would develop a bad case of OCD and never want to
leave the house and when he did, it was to hump Barbie's Hawaiian friend Lelani.
NO I certainly wasn't prepared for my husband's penis to become the enemy and the reason I found
myself working for a Drag Queen Chef. The night I found out my husband cheated on me with a one
legged horse...no, well that is how I see her in my mind, I punched him in the scrotum and updated
my Facebook status with the words "My Husband is having an affair with a dirty one legged horse". I
took it down an hour later; realized airing dirty laundry on Facebook probably wasn't the best
example to set for my daughter. Especially when you get responses like, "better luck next time", and
16 likes. So, instead I retreated to my sanctuary, the place "where everybody knows my name, and
their always glad I came".... My own Cheers — only instead of bar nuts, they serve sushi and there are
hipsters at the bar instead of Norm and Cliff.
Entering the little bar restaurant would change my life in ways that are… so twisted. I ran in and I
told my adopted family of my pain and cried and drank wine and that is when a familiar voice said
“you need to come work for me girl"!!
It was Aunt Arthur… a friend who happened to be both a celebrity chef and Drag queen. She…he
needed a personal assistant. I was a regular at one of his eateries as was my daughter. She literally
called him "Aunt Arthur.". He had a growing fondness for my daughter and her uncanny fashion
sense—she loved to play dress up and so did he.
He even offered to let me bring my daughter with me when I worked with him. It was mostly working
at his home office and running errands, which he said I could easily just do with my daughter in tow.
BUT I had watched one assistant after the other crumble under his heavy stiletto heel, so I was
hesitant. Still, I needed to think about making money and taking care of my little lady, and myself. An
employer who provides such flexibility, how could I pass that up? Besides I'm from Brooklyn, I'm
tough, how hard could it be to work for a gay chef who wears ladies panties?
So that night I decided to take Aunt Arthur up on his offer. I agreed to start Monday however Arthur
needed me to fulfill my first task ASAP. "Coco, I need you to go to Hustler and pick me out a dildo" I
haven't had sex in a long time and an old boyfriend is coming to town and I need to stretch my
butthole out."
Wow! Too Much Information? Yeah, it was for me too!
Beads of sweat started forming from my forehead all the way down around my neck—like a nuse. All I
could think was sweet Jesus, these are the errands I will be taking my sweet little girl on? I mean I am
a very open minded person, but trying to explain to a 3 year old why she can't play with the shiny
vibrating wand or the fuzzy bracelets, was not a topic I was prepared to address.
BUT I needed this job and thought this was probably just an unusual request. Plus Aunt Arther said my
daughter could stay with him for this errand. I swallowed hard and managed to force a smile, "Um
sure. Okay um well what size small, medium or large? Any color preference"?
“I leave the executive decision to you.” Auntie said. “Just make sure you pick one with a good texture.
I just hate one that is too pinchy.? You know what I mean, right?" Figure it out, just figure it out".
Arthur said.
I thought "NO I don't know!!" It's not like I had many past employer's call me in their office to discuss
dildo purchasing. Still I hid my sheer embarrassment and said ok.
At first bringing my daughter with me was perfect. Arthur and Darian (my daughter) bonded. He even
made her a little green sequened gown to match his.
When I told my grandma about the new job and direction my life was suddenly taking she said, in her
very raw 94 year old catholic Italian persona, "Oh my Gawd you have Darian around a gay, ooooh
maybe she might turn gay. Look what happened to that butane (means slut in Italian) Cher's daughter
she was so gay she changed into a man. Oh well! Your mother told me he is rich maybe he will change
his mind that he's gay and marry you".
As time went on grandma's witless suggestion became semi true. After months of working for Arthur
our working relationship had become a dysfunctional co-dependent marriage, except there was no
sex, we shared each other's make up and I dined on the stress of making him happy.
His demand's became increasingly ridiculous like the Sunday (my supposed day off) he called me up
frantic that he lost his diamond ring in a gay bar… ‘he thought.’ He was on the verge of tears and
begged me to retrace his steps. I agreed because by this point I was used to the very nice salary he
paid me, I was still able to have Darian with me and he was very generous. I often received gifts from
him. Free food, Free Clothes, free WINE which I needed badly, after a day of shopping for enema kits
and firing staff members. He put me in charge of giving the ax to his employees because the last time
he unleashed his wrath to a very large male carpenter his wig fell off and his fake nail flew into the
face of Jose. Jose laughed and called him a fat pig and Arthur stayed in bed for 3 days and ordered me
to feed him cabbage soup and lemon water for 3 days.
When I asked why we were firing THAT person, Arthur said he had painted the dining room the wrong
color yellow. Of course he hasn’t told him what the right color yellow was, just "to figure it out."
Guess he figured wrong. The painter had picked a ‘bumble bee yellow’ and Arthur was acting like he’d
been stung by it — I remember him screaming, “fuck my life everyone is out to get me."
So anyway there I am on Sunday morning in a very seedy gay bar on all fours looking around for his
ring that he may or may not have dropped. And by the way he came with me but he was too
traumatized to look himself he would just point out the spots that he was standing or dancing in and
cover his eyes and dramatically say "you look, you look" and I would proceed to crawl around the
floor looking. I found some pretty interesting items on the sticky floor of that gay bar, but none were
his ring. From there we visited Athen's diner, his house twice, the local pawn shop to see if anyone
had sold it, Harris Teeter and all 3 of his restaurants.
After 2-and-a-half-hours of looking I told him it was no use and to chalk it up to a lesson learned. I
breathed a sigh of relief because now l could go home and spend some quality time with my
daughter. "Umm where are you going"?!! he said. Last night I had some people over and this drag
queen from Chicago drank too much and threw up on the couch and the floor" "AND"?!!! I said "Well
the maid won't come in, it is her day off can you clean it?"
I was so mad!!!! I actually heard the blood in my veins boiling that is how angry I was. I was about to
tell him to shove this job up his well stretched out ass, but I needed to keep working for me and
Darian, at least until I found something better. "FINE"! I cleaned it while he laid on the other couch
moaning and saying "Fuck my life" no one understands me, I am a visionary."
"Fucking Visionary", I mumbled under my breath, if visionary means spoiled brat born into a wealthy
family who whose spanx are too tight and has skid marks in his underwear than that is the correct
definition of visionary.
When I was done cleaning up the up chuck of Holly Hobbles and was headed toward the door, he said
"Wait, why are you abandoning me? I need you to choose a new color yellow for the dining room" I
don't know what to pick , you need to figure it out"...He wanted me to choose sunflower yellow or
Rockerfeller corn. I knew that it didn't matter what color I picked. If he hated it in the morning I would
be fired and at this point I didn't care! I picked daffodil surprise and he loved it! Weeks went by and I
continued to work for Arthur. There were days that I found the job interesting and challenging like
when he would take me to tv appearances with him and pedicures after. There were also days where I
felt like I had been through shock therapy. Days where he was simply frantic because he was traveling
and could not decide which Louis Vuitonn bags went with his wardrobe choices. Those were the days
where I had to work overtime taking polaroids of him in various outfits holding different bags. We
would sit there for hours studying them and deciding which garments would be worthy of packing and
which ones I would lug to goodwill because they made him look "too fat to live". Or my particular
favorite on nights he had special caterering events he would call me up every time without fail and
say, "Fuck my life I forgot that I needed bok choy but I need a specific kind the one they only sell at
that store that is 20 minutes away but they close in 10 minutes. I need it, so figure it out. You need to
get there"
I was now finding myself hiding in the bathroom smoking cigarettes any chance I got. I was Humpty
Dumpty just sitting up on that wall waiting for my shell to crack. My synthetic gay marriage had now
turned into a mother child relationship.
I now had two children—a three-and-a-half-year-old girl and a 50-year-old-deviant drag queen son.
The 50 year old constantly asked "does my ass look fat in this shiny pink dress?" and the female 3 year
old would demand" "Mommy do a puppet show while I wear Aunt Arthur’s shiny pink dress" .
One day while I was working for Arthur in his downstairs office. I heard Dari and him arguing. When I
went upstairs they were in his drag closet eating cookies and fighting over a wig. "She got pink
frosting on my favorite wig"!! "Well what are you two doing in here eating cookies anyway"?!!! I just
cleaned this closet out" I said. How many times do I have to tell you both no eating cookies in the drag
closet"!!
Okay I just heard what I said and repeated it in my mind," I just cleaned this closet out, How many
times do I have to tell you both no eating cookies in the drag closet?!!"
This wasn't normal, was it? I also noticed that the cookies they were eating were pink frosted penis
sugar cookies! Before I could say anything my sweet little girl looks at me and said "Mommy can you
just buy me my own new wig?" "Dari I just bought you a wig 2 days ago, you can't get another right
now, maybe next month."
"Fuck my Life", my three-year-old daughter said. That was the profanity that broke the drag queen's
back!"
“Arthur, I said, I can't work for you anymore" and I picked up my little girl and walked out of Arthur's
life… for good. I had quit a couple of times before but we both knew this was really the last dance. As
Arthur turned up the Alicia Key's song "No One" which we listened and sang together every Monday
morning before we planned my duties for the week, He sang to me as a swan song, "I just want you
close so we can stay forever, you can be sure, that it will only get better, you and me together
throughout the days and nights I don't worry cause everything's gonna be alright...." We gazed at each
other both with tear's in our eyes, but we nodded and let each other go.....
I do have Arthur to thank for the new jobs I soon found. I did so much writing for him, blogs,
marketing campaigns that I found my nitch as a freelance writer. I can still work from home and be
there for my daughter; only I don’t have to clean poopy underwear (Arthur's) or answer the question,
"Did I tape my balls up good enough, can you see them through this gown?"
During that time, I learned a lot about Toddlers and drag queens and that there is really no difference
between working for a drag queen and being the mom of a three-year-old. Both are always starving
for attention, crying, pooping, throwing up and singing way too many Gaga tunes.."oooohh, ohhhh
caught in a bad romance"...
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