Just half an hour ago, I was binging on several containers of my roommates [1] ben & jerry's. After dropping two containers in the trash, I was suddenly overtaken by a profound sense of self-loathing and guilt, I decided to make a quick stop to the local QFC to buy him some replacements.
Before I begin, I admit, I was dressed quite faggishly: european shirt with capped sleeves to show off the superior delt tie-in and veiny-as-a-cock 15-inch upper arms, and fairly short athletic shorts rolled up at the waistband (promptly rolled down after pulling up to the parking lot, whereupon my to-be-questioned masculinity was further dwindled by the presence of several wise-cracking 'brews) [2]. I snagged the creamy tribute [3] and decided to head to the Italian section in order to pick up some preservative free boxed tomatoes [4], whereupon I make eye contact with an slightly older fellow dressed none-too-dissimilarly.
Now, I casually mention having "picked up" the boxed tomatoes, but in reality I probably spent about 15 minutes looking for these delicacies (before finally finding them in the stores SECOND entire row dedicated to canned tomatoes, WTF). All the while, this rather nervous-looking man pretended to be intently focused on one of the fifteen varieties of spaghetti before him. At one point, it became clear we were going to pass each other; he apologizes profusely and excuses himself rapidly no less than five times, his face rapidly transforming through a series of stupid grins and sheepish smiles, even though I'm a good fifteen feet away from him yet!.
"FFS what a meltdown!" I think to myself as a sense of dread slowly starts to build in my gut. For the next ten minutes or so, I travel from aisle to aisle, and my skittish admirer is never far behind. As I stand with my face practically jammed into the spice rack (zero possibility of noticing anything around me) he eventually passes by, again loudly issuing apology in breathless tones, giving another nervous smile. I then notice he has nothing in his basket -- somehow I'm not surprised.
I'm practically running as I make my way to the self-checkout stand, and what do you know, he conveniently pops up two kiosks down, as if on cue. Making my purchase in record time, I double back through the store, ducking through one of the vacant, standard check-outs and out the main entrance. Luckily, I parked about twenty feet away, and I'm able to breathe a sigh of relief as I speed away from the store half a minute later.
I reflect on the truly incredible sense of disgust that filled me as I felt this homo's eyes perpetually glancing over, just waiting for me to look up, practically bursting with all manner of schmoey thoughts, hopes, and deulsions. Then, a horrible question dawned:
Is this how women feel, all the time? [5]
[1][2][3][4][5] no homo
