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I am (not)

Am I a homophobe?

I’d like to think not. I’ve been to the gay parade in the village (twice), I’ve seen Queer Eye (twice), I’ve even had good guy friends make passes (twice too—unfortunately, whereas I shrugged it off , they never recovered from my polite rejection, leading to the falling out ). Hell, I’ve even applauded Governor McGreevey’s heroism.

Yet, this morning, as I got undressed to take a shower in the gym, I’ll admit that I fret the eyes which were upon me.

It all seemed so innocuous, this stranger just started chatting me up, very amiably, harmless prattle by all means, but still something seemed strange about the blathering. Maybe it was his brushed eyebrows and curled lashes, and that prickly-icky permanent smile that wiled me wrong somehow.

At first I replied graciously, consciously not taking it farther than a response, lest he believe that I wanted to carry on a full-fledged conversation. Then, as he got carried away with this and that and all excited about his idea for a contest (i.e. “They should have everyone bring in a work-out compilation and we’ll vote to see who is most popular. I wonder who would win out—classic rock or disco?” I made fun of him in the back of my mind thinking, “Shit, I bet you’d vote for something somewhere in between…like QUEEN maybe?”)

Anyway, the more his mouth moved the more anxious I became to get in that shower. He kept on as if he were trying to sell me something. He even asked me specifically about my current work, which at first surprised me because I did not recognize him, but then I realized it was quite normal considering the nature of my job. For I’m in charge of a lot meetings, events and communications which consistently get my name out there where anyone can abuse it to start chatting away as if they know me.

Hence, the situation really shouldn’t have been all that fretsome for me—yet, once again, it was.

Once in the shower, I smiled thinking I had gained some invaluable empathy, for I better understood why some women get so riled up about men hitting on them. Its just so annoying when you’re not interested.

I pondered the reasons over a bit more as I scrubbed and thought that his attention could have been attributed to other factors as well: he’s just being friendly, he’s a nervous-type that feels better when jabbering, or maybe even, I’m pleasant to look at.

I realize the latter seems boastful, but I’m actually being quite analytically honest as I am not ashamed to reason that I am more comely than most. This logic follows from my own appreciation of the beauty of a well-toned body, regardless of gender. And I proudly convey that I am in the best shape I have been in over ten years. I’ve been in better shape, but even then I did not have the hardened gut I privately (privately?) delight in now. So, if somehow I was aesthetically easy on his eye, then why should I cry ogling?

So, am I a homophobe?

I hope not. I think not, therefore I am (not).

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