Overheard: The so-called baap of Bombay gay blogging (thanks to FFF, that name has stuck now!) telling budding young professional: OMG, Closetalk and d/d are the biggest women I've known!
;-)
Well, we never denied it, d/d and I, but our issue was the frank airing of such a view behind our collective backs. Yesterday, I realized, just how womanish we really are: The Tapworks.
I cry. Terribly. Hopelessly. And I've realised, I use it as an unconscious defence mechanism. With all due respect to the so-called fairer sex, how womanly is that?!
Imagine scene: Closetalk is cornered into a situation where he's been made to confess. He's scared shitless about ensuing circumstances, and so the bawling starts. The blinking of eyes start. The nose screwing and sniffing starts. And the teardrops form. And roll. Down the cheeks. The hands rise up to wipe away in a futile gesture. It's a beautifully crafted, splendidly orchestrated performance. Only problem that makes me turn blue in protestations: it's not really crafted, and there's no conscious performance: it's just... natural.
Now who on earth would not believe me when I say that?
A quick survey of the Bombay gay world proves that most gay men are pansies, however, so I have misery in company (whatever that means). Emily cries after reading my mushy posts about Boy. He'll probably bawl buckets after seeing Brokeback Mountain. Veed cries at the drop of a hat to get his way at college, and escape having to study too hard. D/d cries as a defence mechanism, like me. Pansies, hankies at the ready... now.... blow!
Oops, did that sound obscene?
;-)
Tying in a bit of current world politics, in an effort to make this blog seem intelligent:
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