Lately, I have read some posts where bloggers write about their longing to be “truthful and honest” on their blogs. I think about this issue, too, but I have a difficult time choosing my reality. What is truer — the facts of my daily life, my emotions connected with specific events, or the chaotic mess that goes on inside the head?
Yesterday, we took Sophia’s mother out for mother’s day. We went to a Brazilian restaurant. Sophia wanted me to dress up for her mother, but I brought very little with me from New York, so I hobbled together a look that was a fashion emergency. I wore blue dress slacks, a green shirt, black shoes, a brown belt, and different color socks. Just like the typical guy. In most ways, I am the typical guy. I don’t care what I wear. I would have preferred to wear jeans and sneakers.
In the restaurant, Samba dancers entertained the guests by dancing in the aisles. They were a lot of fun to watch. Did I fantasize about dancing with one of them? No. I fantasized about BEING one of them! For that moment in time, I was enchanted by their costumes. I wanted to be flamboyant like that, wearing feathers on my head, and shaking my goods for adoring fans. Imagine how good a samba dancer feels, knowing that all eyes are on HER!
So what is the real me? The schlumpy guy wearing two different socks or the one wishing he was dancing the Samba as a seductive woman? Can a man ever get the same amount of attention as a female Samba dancer? I doubt it.
If I were a beautiful woman, I would wear the hottest clothes, and strut down the street with my ass shaking. I would be like one of those women in those shampoo commercials where, after I washed my hair to near orgasm, everyone in the street would turn to look at me — the ultimate expression of glamour. I believe those commercials where the product is for a woman. I do NOT believe those Axe commercials where women jump the guy because he is wearing some crappy cologne.
So, what is my reality? Boring guy or closet cross-dresser?
Is this entire post bullshit? By tomorrow, I might think so. But for this moment, while I am typing this, this is my reality — because I am thinking about it. I want to be a female Samba dancer. I also think about threesomes and being an astronaut. So, what is reality?
After returning home from the restaurant, I told Sophia about my fantasy of being a sexy female Samba dancer. I was surprised that she WASN’T surprised.
“You would not be happy as a woman,” she said.
“Why not?” I replied. “I think it would be cool to have both men and women admire me for my beauty, mystery, and sensuality — something you just can’t get as a man.”
Just by chance, Sophia had just downloaded a new photo app to her iPhone, which helped her prove her point.
I would not be a good woman.
