I blew off an opportunity on Saturday night to go to a party and meet the peripatetic lsc in order to go for drinks at Dieu du Ciel with someone whom I met awhile ago. We had a blast, and what was supposed to be for only an hour lasted until much late. We then dropped by my place, since Frances the cat had been left outside and J suggested that I should probably let her in. Well, that’s what she suggested, and I’m normally too dense to read anything into stuff like that.
So, we get to my place, J looks arounds, laughs uproariously at the fact that I have a climbing wall, and then states that, “You have such a guy apartment!” Strange, I never thought of it as such. Granted, I don’t have throw pillows, nor do I have posters of nekkid chicks on the wall (I took them down beforehand), but there was never a conscious effort to project any supposed masculinity. Damn, I’m a stereotype. Must now learn to burp and scratch my balls in public. I foresee a steep learning curve.