09 October 2012
She was a young professional female in professional clothing with a seriously professional look on her face, slender and attractive, most likely with a university degree, who probably holds herself in extremely high regard and assumes everyone else does as well. You know the type.
It is with a bit of uneasiness that I admit it to you. I am generally regarded as a gentleman, "one of Nature's gentlemen" in fact, although, as I have pointed out before, I do not consider myself as such. Still, I am considered a well-mannered sort. These are reflections no doubt of my priviliged upbringing and education, for which I am grateful and for which I make no apologies. After they get to know me, of course, the assessment is that I am an arsehole, a solitary, and a sexual pervert, albeit one with sweetness and charm. But the initial impression remains.
Everyone of us has a unique talent. Mine is invective. From a very early age my mouth has landed me in trouble. My contempt, it seems, has a mind all its own. As I matured I was able to back up my words with the threat of physical harm. And now, at my age, it is married to an increasingly brutal, bleak view of our situation.
Several months ago one of the portfolio assistants, a chubby twentysomething girl from Chicago, approached me with an odd smile on her face. "So, William, what does a girl like me have to do to get a guy like you?", she asked, her head cocked to the side, hand on generous hip. Typical snarkiness replaced for once by vulnerability.
I wanted to tell her: "Stop stuffing your pretty mouth with fast food, you fat little pig". But instead I suggested she start attending a local gym (which, around here, function as a sort of singles club), or head to the beach, or take up kite-surfing.
"I can't help it that I'm overweight", another chapette with a hankering for yours truly recently explained. "It's in my genes".
"Indeed", I replied. I wanted to add: "I'm similarly genetically programmed to avoid fatties such as yourself, apart from procuring an occasional drunken blowjob in the bog. Your rolls of fat betray a defect of character and an insolent attitude. Now go eat a Twinkie".
But, I said nothing.
Progress, one might say, not perfection.
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