Toast. It Would Choke Me.

It shall never cease to surprise me how quickly things unravel, how quickly the Helepolis finds a river it can be dunked into, how stupidly the bottom of the Trojan Horse collapses, and out comes a Greek smiling sheepishly while the ones inside execute an elegant facepalm. It also astounds me how people do not think twice before, even if it is in a jocose sort of way, attaching the epithet of 'whore' or 'slut' to someone's name. Ah, yes, it is all most amusing, but frightfully heedless as well.

Having chosen Option B, I found that I have chosen beneath me. Remember how I waxed eloquent about how 'restive and restful', how 'refreshingly casual' their world is? I was a fool. There is nothing refreshing about casual, especially not when it takes the rather casual, if circuitous, path of a casual inception to a casual proceeding to a casual denouement (as oxymoronic as that is), and finally, a casual finale.

I am laughing more this time around. I remember last time, I was lachrymose and all Eponinny, but this time I find it, ah, "how very amusing, but also inept." This should, on no account, take away from the fact that every time something like this happens, a sizeable chunk of my self-esteem is first fattened to a surfeit, and then served like foie gras, and to an undeserving palate, to boot. Bright, witty and scintillating on the surface does not necessarily translate as 'secure with self', and I am not. I never have been, and this is why every time something like this happens, I feel hideous.

As far as this melange is concerned, I had promised myself not to get too invested. But I did get invested, and almost unknowingly so: how slowly my defences were infiltrated, or perhaps it was MY flesh that was far too willing. What does one do when that knowledge, a conversation intime, of the dans la boudoir variety becomes public knowledge? Well, one takes a walk, and reflects on the lines of "how very amusing! But also inept."

My walking companion was the alter-ego of a dear friend, we shall call the alter ego Scarlet Woman. There we were: Scarlet Woman and the Dirty Mistress walking into the night, our conversation was acrid: we spoke of people who were quick to judge our choices, people who we thought understood what we were about. As one who has dealt in the currency and gambles of gossip and hearsay for as long as he can remember, I firmly believe that those who call out certain actions as "scandalous!" or "whoreish" do, on a very visceral level, wish that they'd had the courage to sin so beautifully. Scarlet Woman and I lay in the grass, and watched the stars; we wept as our laughter bubbled through because all of this was so "very amusing, but also inept", until finally my friend quipped: "I feel like toast. We should get toast. Why don't you come up to my room, and I'll make us toast?"
"You are sure about this?" I said saucily. "Another gentleman making his way to your room? Think of your reputation!"
"Think of yours!" she riposted as crisply as her promise of toast.

There is something to be said about a piece of toast slathered with butter (or rhubarb jam, as in her case). As far as comfort food goes, toast is not fuzzy and/or the harbinger of a saccharified coma. Toast is crisp, and the crispness refuses to allow complaisance. Toast needs to be held with poise, or else one gets their hands sticky, and so it demands that one remains in control. Toast is versatile, and deals with most common spreads, and so is not limited to a particular kind of conundrum. The crunch of toast will force you to get up and get going, be it breakfast or break-up. It was over toast that Scarlet Woman, and I whiled away a few good hours. It was over toast that we let our dominoes slip: the witty one wasn't required to sway passions with his prolixity, and the piquant, business-like one wasn't expected to magically have all the answers. Oh, toast.

I didn't cry too much this time, I laughed more. There are those who said that the embittered laughter was infinitely more frightening, but, really, after a while, it just becomes "so very amusing, but also inept". It is amusing because it is a burlesque, really, everyone saw it coming but the players involved. It is inept for the same reason. I have learnt that one should never seek love below one's station, the hurt that the loss of such potential inspires is quite debilitatingly uncalled for. Furthermore, one wouldn't want maggots to feast on such meet food as one's Dignity, would one? Time for toast, I reckon.

Until the next time,
GossipGuy.