Captain’s Log, November 12:
Argh! The ladies were mighty provocative this morning. Stirring and rabble–rousing, promising to make all kinds of trouble.
For, as I was exiting the gym, I noticed a giggling horde of them, four fine wenches huddled in causerie, apparently gabbing as gossip-mongers will do.
I futilely tried to eschew this madding crowd, but their bright and shiny eyes locked onto me and somehow I knew I was about to be confronted with ms. curiosity.
As I approached with a deferential smile, which I foolishly hoped might grant me safe passage, I heard one of them blurt, “Look, it’s the devil himself…”
This prompted all of them to turn and face me, and at that point I knew there was mutiny on the bounty.
I thought, “Oh, oh. Here we go. What now?”
With the brazen, unsavory approach of a drunk teenager, the instigator asked me point-blanc—
“Are you gay?”
My eyes burst open and I smiled a retort, “Well that’s a queer question, if I ever was asked one. Funny pun fully intended, of course. Why, No, I’m not…Who’s interested?”
“Well, we just presumed…,” piped in the shortest one, who seemed somewhat embarrassed by the whole situation.
“…that I was funny somehow? A happy-go-lucky king of guy? That’s a mighty big presumption,” I taunted, fully intending to stir the pot.
“It’s just that you’re always so impeccably dressed..”
“And you’re in great shape…”
“…and rather good-looking too,” chimed in the other three birds, one after another.
“Well, thank you. That is rather kind of you all to convey. And I’ll dare say that on top of all that one of my eyes is slightly smaller than other. Nonetheless, that should not qualify me to be a host of a makeover show...”
The instigator suddenly beamed, “Bravo! And I’d add—quite quick with the wit, as well.”
“Apparently, you’re quite a sharp shooter yourself.” I shot back with a wink.
“You must be a regular Alfie,” flitted one of them with a subtle bat of her lashes.
“Irregular is more like it,” I replied, “But I dare say girls, that what this all really boils down to is that I’m in your pilates class, doesn’t it? That’s really the ringer isn’t it?” Raising my hand I chimed with the small shake of my phantom bell,.” Ding, a-ling-ling. Hello, anybody home?”
With a gritty-grin I rolled my eyes and they all chuckled in return.
Albeit, the banter between the gals and me was gainfully amusing and painfully flattering, I was anxious to get back to work. I would have loved to linger and chat a little longer, but the pressing list of things to do was much stronger the temptation of luxuriating in their complimentary bally-hoo. So, I said goodbye with a wry smile and a mischievous squint, bidding a slight bow, “If you’ll please excuse me, my desk awaits me.”
Admittedly, for a misguided moment I wanted to careen from the tail end of this witty conversation into a flirtatious invitation by punctuating my farewell with “Make sure you stop by and see me some time…” But before my lips and naïveté could cohort to oblige this precarious whimsy, my experienced sensibilities closed the lid on Pandora’s box and convinced me to make the half-turn and saunter away. Consciously I restrained myself from looking back and exhibiting the pep in my step because I was confident that this would polish the charming allure left in the wake of feigned indifference.
After the door shut behind me and I was alone in the stairwell, I heard a sudden burst of glee. I couldn’t help but wonder and felt humbled by a presumption of laughter at my expense. I was compelled to ask myself, “So is being misperceived a good thing?” I could not seem to bring the myriad factions of my opinion into accord, so I decisively willed all doubt away, concluding I could not afford such treason aboard the good ship Delusion.
Besides, it was bad enough that I was subsequently piqued into wondering about myself. For while I was in line getting my daily overdose of vitamin C and beta-carotene, I chuckled as I chided myself for spending far too much time on my silk pocket square this morning. Fixated on affixing it so it sprouted just so and flourished subtlety from my breast—I folded, puffed, and stuffed it several times until it looked just like the fancy fleur de lis I was vying for.
I concluded that the whole rollicking scenario was simply a test of my mettle and the strength of my mind, for I was not one inclined to acquiescing to precipitous and perilous stereotypes.
Besides, Captain Black was at the helm!
And I will not steer awry each time a mere jeer blows my way!
*
Jack Sparrow: [looking at all the swords] Who makes all these?
Will Turner: I do. And I practice with them three hours a day.
Jack Sparrow: You need to find yourself a girl mate. Or perhaps the reason you practice three hours a day is that you already found one, and are otherwise incapable of wooing said strumpet. You're not a eunuch are you?
Will Turner: I practice three hours a day, so when I meet a pirate, I can kill it.
~ Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl
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