I assume that during the dogged heat of summer, there are going to be a few people that simply succumb to the heat and go a little crazy. Let me first clarify the term crazy, because it gets tossed around a lot and as most of you know, there are subtle, yet distinctive levels of “crazy.” For instance, wearing flip-flops when you haven’t had a pedicure in a couple of years, is not crazy, it’s just a little gross, but as an FYI, no one voluntarily wants to see those scaly hooves trudging across the city...Now as for the folks that actually like to see them...Well, they have a particular fetish that’s crazy.
While the above example is not necessarily certifiable by any means, there are scores of folks that are, I assume during any other time of the year, completely level-headed. However, once the temperatures starts to climb, their intelligence level drops according to the mercury level in the outside thermometer. Most of these people are easily spotted and tend to make guest apperances on the evening news for things like slapping police officers after they've been pulled over or spouting incoherent phrases during manic episodes that end up driving t-shirt sales. There are others however, that require the trained eye of a dating columnist to spot.
On Wednesday, I met some friends for lunch at an outdoor café.
It was a gorgeous day, and apparently the whole city played hookey from work because the place was packed ear to elbow. Surrounded not only by a few friends and a few pitchers of sangria, we were forced to compete with the noise level of the city’s transit system and with the rest of the patrons’ conversation as we got reacquainted.
After about an hour, I excused myself, walked across the restaurant and headed into the bathroom. This is where it gets a little crazy.
I bumped into an attractive younger guy waiting outside the bathroom.
Overhearing that I wrote a dating column, from a few tables over, he solicited advice. Because I rarely give advice to strangers who stalk me outside of public urinals and never while my mental filters may be slightly impaired from the deliciousness of sangria, I referred him to my column this week. So in appreciation of his fortitude, although slightly creepy, here is his question and my response.
He asked, “Should I tell my girlfriend I am bi?”
Any healthy relationship is built with honesty. I know this philosophy may be old fashioned and even cliché, however it holds true even by today’s standards. Having studied The Kinsey Scale on sexual behaviors back in Psychology 101, I fully understand the error of simply labeling someone’s bedroom behavior. However, being Southern, I am also fully aware that most men want their cake and would gladly eat it too if given the opportunity. While I am more of a traditional sort of guy who prefers moonlight and magnolias over ménage a trios, relationships are defined by the participants.
If y’all want to swing from the rafters with the entire swim team, that’s your collective preference…but you don’t get to make that decision alone. If you are going to continue this relationship, you must tell your girlfriend the truth and the both of you will have to re-define what your relationship means.
As a word of caution, you might want to think about removing all sharp or heavy objects in your immediate vicinity when you tell her, if you’ve engaged in any “extra-curricular” activities because she most assuredly will ask.
Hey, I never said that honesty wasn’t sometimes gonna hurt.
As a word of caution, you might want to think about removing all sharp or heavy objects in your immediate vicinity when you tell her, if you’ve engaged in any “extra-curricular” activities because she most assuredly will ask.
Hey, I never said that honesty wasn’t sometimes gonna hurt.
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