At the back of the hill

Warning: If you stay here long enough you will gain weight! Grazing here strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton. And you might like cheese-doodles.
BTW: I'm presently searching for another person who likes cheese-doodles.
Please form a caseophilic line to the right. Thank you.

Sunday, September 01, 2013

LET'S NOT TALK ABOUT THAT

There are questions which people ask which, when one thinks about them, indicate a profound skewing of priorities. Often such questions are voiced to establish a comparative ranking in some perceived pecking order, which may not be of any importance, peck-wise, to anyone other than the person asking the question.
Questions about favourite team or ballplayer, for instance.

I have no religious affiliation, so being asked which sportive unit has gained my undying loyalty, devotion, and clothing preferences, will not register.

The Miami Tuna? Oaktown Roachkillers?
New York Johnnies and their pennant?


Sorry, nix farshtey, un' es iz mir alts gonts egal.

I've got a baseball cap with Chabad and a dancing rabbi on it, if that tells you anything.


Some questions do not even get that detailed (or sneering) an answer.



The other day, someone whom I shall call 'Herbert the Pervert' asked me when the last time was that I had sex. He considers himself a player, and sexual behavior ranks very high in his book. In his mind, "scoring" is the true mark of a man.

Given what casual sex may mean in this day and age, he's probably the Typhoid Mary of chlamydia.

Naturally I changed the subject.



Inquiries about one's sex-life, whether fun-filled and rambunctious, OR completely and staggeringly absent, are not conversational gambits that require accurate responses, unless the querant is in the medical field or a prospective bed-mate.

Or a psychiatrist. Anybody who engages in frequent sex with an ever-changing roster of individuals about whom little is known other than their willingness and gender probably needs to speak with a shrink.

Boasting about it is even worse.



I am as enthusiastic about naughty behaviour as anyone, but if it happens, there is only one person who would need to be informed:
the other participant. Given that she would actually be involved,
that's also inevitable.

It is extremely unlikely that she would subsequently be introduced to friends in any way that suggested that sex was the only thing that tied us together.
I would far rather people think "they're a lovely couple" than "they must need it real bad".


Not a single one of Herbert the Pervert's numerous girlfriends has ever been conversationally gifted. Which is sad, as they're all perfect for him. He's not an individual of any great depth either.
The "two" of them just needed it real bad.





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