040410 WE ARE NOT YOUR PETS

A phrase coined by a good writer friend of mine, of whom Muriel Sparks’ Loitering With Intent would describe perfectly.

The guy I so triumphantly ditched into the gutter of my mind performed a somewhat miraculous resurrection in the form of an email. In which he dumped me.

NO FAIR! NO FAIR! I dumped you! But without even bothering to dump you! Nay, these things, apparently, must be concluded properly. In one of those tired-old, bile-inducing soliloquies made apparently less formal by their delivery over electronic mail.

A lethargic, shallow, inoffensive offering to make things okay.

An insult in the form of a compliment.

I saw him in my inbox and recoiled at the first sentence. By the time my adrenalin had excelled my reading speed to whole email in one second, I had to eject myself from my desk. But not before I automatically banged out a reply and pressed send.

Gawd, what had I done? Was my pride really so dominating that the fact someone had offered an explanation was fundamentally unacceptable to me?

Bile.

Anyway, poor bugger, although I am a ‘great lover’ (hurl), apparently I left him feeling empty and confused. DEAL WITH IT SUCKER! Some of us have been on that shelf for yaaaaaaaaaars.

I got over it. I had to; my childish, knee-jerk reaction even making me question whether it was time for a visit to the hypnotherapist. Erase me, for everyone’s sake. Erase me.

But don’t you know it, karma, or fate, or cause and effect, often takes a strange turn, and last night I was unfortunate enough to be put in his shoes.

A long-standing friend from work was having a birthday do at a bar with a terribly pretentious name, on the bitterly cold and wind-torn seafront, and to make it even less appealing, kick-off was at 10pm.

Having stayed up till 3am the night before putting the world to wrongs with a fellow kick-boxer, a cup of cocoa and the Doctor Who rerun was a far more appealing option. But I’m being careful at the moment not to look the social gifthorse in the mouth – moaning about a god-awful night is better than moaning that you never go out….

So off I popped, slightly delirious, for a pre-freakshow bevy with my wife, before blustering down to the seafront to a soulless bar to meet my destiny…..

And what was this destiny that confronted me? I could have drawn it before I saw it. Oh how stereotypes reinforce themselves. A plethora of fag-haggery, fake amphetamine-induced smiles and hideous fancy-dressers wriggled about before me. A girl in a bear suit with the most morose face trudged past me before I realised it was a man. A transsexual with a very peculiar accent conversed with me weakly about tattoos. Very Jane McDonald.

Too many grins, not enough light shone out of these people. And I’m sorry to say it, but I could definitely smell shit at certain intervals. As I bopped to some lame latin dance music, several rotten-toothed gays who had obviously been through the mill a few times tried to join me.

I am not your master. You are not my pet. Now get!

A middle-aged chrisso radio-dj type stood by the door in a sci-fi t-shirt, misplaced but grimacing along.

And as karma would have it, like my ex-lover, this circus makes me feel empty and confused. Although sometimes when he was in me I felt the same…..

I decided to track down the shit smell for want of anything more tasteful to do, and it belonged to a man wearing shaggy animal trousers. Now I do remember a monkey suit smelling of shit a bit after one-too many parties, but what if…..what if…..

My saving grace was my friends. The gays who choose to define themselves not by their shitty animal-pants, but by their glorious personalities. More Hitler youth and surfer boy, we ensued several dancing competitions from the artful dodger to the riverdance, a few rounds of the splitz and it was off. Thank Gawd.

Could have been worse. Somehow, could have been worse, and I was still standing. Miraculously I hail a cab and jump in. It’s a warm-looking curly-haired Pole at the wheel and instantly I love the way about him. I bet he gets some abuse for his thick accent, but I love it. Right now, I could be anywhere, going anywhere, and it is sweet refuge for me. We narrowly miss running over several hen parties and laugh along the way.

And it occurred to me – such is life: some of us are just driving along, some of us are just staring out the window, and some of us are trying to run the fuckers over……