Did you think you were going to escape having orchid pictures inflicted upon you?
No?
Well… that was clever of you.
In other news, my friend (one of them, anyway) came bouncing into the bakery recently. He did.
“Guess what, Feral. Guess, guess guess.”
“I couldn’t possibly,” says I. Nope. I really couldn’t, either.
Then the other shoe falls. Ker-thump.
“I got a boyfriend!”
Oh what fresh gay hell is this, now? That’s what I’m thinking. It’s not at all what I said (not that I’m not prone to yelling just that at the top of my lungs because I am) but it is what I thought. “How special,” says I.
“It is, you know,” the friend says in all seriousness.
Now… this would be the self-same friend who ejaculated that he needed a boyfriend not that long ago… the one who seemed oblivious to the notion that one might (just might) have to actually do something to make that happen.
“Usually boyfriend shopping takes somewhat longer,” says I. “All serious shopping takes somewhat longer. Deciding on a pair of shoes takes longer, fer fuck’s sake.”
“I just did what you said to do,” says he. “It worked, too.”
“Oh… I know it works. My not-at-all-patented formula for boyfriend hunting most assuredly works. I’m just wondering… that part about Step 1… the part where you decide with some specificity what it is you want… you didn’t by any chance stop at ‘breathing,’ did you?”
He cocks his head. “And male. Breathing and male.”
So… on Thursday, the day after Groundhog Day… if you by any chance heard a monumental sigh… that was me. I might be wrong on this point (I very often am), but I do suspect that sigh went ’round the globe twice.
Yeah.
Note to the masses: “breathing” just isn’t a sufficient resume for a boyfriend. Certainly it helps… not-breathing is very counterproductive. It’s just not enough, though. It’s just not. It will lead to all manner of difficulties down the road. This “anyone will do” thing… that requires monumental effort to make it work.
Monuments… they tend to be large. Really large. Hence, “monumental.”
