IT’S NOT WHAT YOU’RE THINKING
What’re you Adorable Little Doubters thinking?
Let’s start with the facts – obvious, fabricated or otherwise – liberated for sensational effect, a requisite for scripting this gem of undeniable irrelevance.
It’s been bugging my ass – right, my puns are always intentional, off-mark and ill-executed – for almost 30 years.
Here’s how it goes …
I’M A BORN AND RAISED
Yes, there have been a few prolonged lapses.
The Dry Season – Volume XIV.
Abstinence is a choice.
I’ve never made … but others have helped me realize.
MY KIND OF SEX IS ALWAYS
With a partner …
Of the opposite gender.
So, a woman (if anyone is struggling with the Simple Math).
“I’ll knock one out solo … from time to time … “
… Okay, get over it, Hippocrates.
Confirmed And Lab-Certified.
I have references.
Like a couple of sons.
And, some not so much.
There must be photoshopped pix or a grainy video pollinating the web somewhere.
I can produce an affidavit, if required.
If it helps.
I didn’t think so.
NO DUBIOUS DIGRESSIONS (*)
Again with an asterisk.
Nervous explanation – Alibi – found below in
Fun Fact Confession #1.
Since you didn’t ask, but are dying to know.
I’M A SAPIOSEXUAL
Meaning, I’m sexually attracted to intelligent women.
We covered this briefly in Just The FAQ’s, Jack, saunter down to #18.
Though not exclusively to their mind.
I’m not weird like that; other ways, yes.
Or exclusionary of the infinite other wonderful feminine attributes and qualities.
There, wasn’t that a safe (enough) statement?
If you were wondering.
I’M A METROSEXUAL
From way back – unclosested – circa 1983.
End worst kept secret never.
Reluctant as I am.
It almost fits, but it doesn’t.
ASCENSION DISSENSION INTO HYPER VANITY
Predates popular culture nomenclature by over a decade.
The term was coined in 1994 by English journalist Mark Simpson.
Though nascent forms of Metrosexy have been prevalent in prehistoric societies, I suspect the earliest anatomically modern Homo sapiens specimen likely picked up a twig and stone flint to groom his undercarriage.
Imagine the chaffing?
ONE THING NO ARCHEOLOGIST WILL TELL YOU
About the birth of man-scaping?
It happened approximately 20 minutes before the time fire was discovered.
Yeah, vanity goes way back, folks.
The same twig coincidentally used to start the first fire?
One could smartly deduce the same dude – Neanderthal Beckham – was also the first Metro to use a mud pack, squatting as he did along a river bank to sip water and spear fish.
The soft, silky mud pressing between his bulbous toes, giving occasion to lather himself in a liberal coating of nutrient rich wet dirt.
This primitive Becks was onto something big.
FUN FACT CONFESSION #1
About the asterisk – (*) – in a bracket?
Technically, yes – once, very mistakenly, unexplainably naïve … there was a ‘digression’.
“I went on a ‘date’ … with a man.”
Take some time with this ….
A man I quickly realized wasn’t a heterosexual …
And, had no plans to convert.
You do the Simple Math.
Sausage Party for Two, Gentlemen?
Get it out.
All of it.
FUN FACT CONFESSION #2
Perhaps, there is validity and importance and absolution to chronology in story telling, and I should’ve started with this salient point first:
“I didn’t know it was a date … with a dude. Not I didn’t … “
How would I?
See: Obviously Oblivious and Someone’s In Denial.
I thought, naively, the two of us – new ‘friends’ – were just going out for a drink after class?
Oh, we were – and yes, we sure did – to a cozy little bar a short walk from the studio were we were both taking acting workshops.
FOR OPTICS & POSTERITY
He was my scene study partner.
My Drama Teacher appointed partners, roles and material.
Wait for it, now …
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.
I’m studying Brick.
He’s Big Daddy.
There’s a bad joke somewhere in there … I just can’t think of any witty Tennessee Williams references that aren’t horribly crude, juvenile or dated.
It wasn’t exactly La Cage aux Folles.
Cut me some professional courtesy, por favor.
… and a pound of slack, Mes amis.
OVERSHARING DIGRESSION – SCENE II
I’d ordered a beer.
Mead if they’d had it on tap.
My date – really, Kuch? – had a glass of white wine.
And, a second …
I nursed my manly stoutly lager to room temperature.
Slow sips, careful not to safe harbor any sudsy foam on my lips.
I may have failed.
Awkward morphed irrevocably into “Get me the ef outta here” when the server lit a miniature candelabra on the tiny bistro table.
Well, isn’t this charming, Ragazzi?
I considered the room.
A dozen deuces filled with same sex couples.
No, I wasn’t.
AND THEN THIS LITTLE NUGGET
He came out.
When the check came.
PERSONAL GROOMING WITH MINIMAL FUSS
like need to groom myself.
A modicum of sensible man-scaping.
In part as a public health service act.
And also, because.
I iron my own shirts.
I don’t press socks or underwear.
I’m not obsessive about anything I wear.
If it fits and suits the season I put it on.
A tiny stain.
MY SEXUAL SUMMATION
Just the way God engineered me.
Different is all.
Perfectly, imperfect, we are.
Happy everything works as it should in this Universe.