Bent

Two days back, I had an appointment at one of the buildings on St. Catherine Street in Montreal. Once finished, I had some time to kill before meeting E for lunch. I decided to grab my preferred brand of triple shot, no fat, no foam grande latte and take a spill through the shops.

As I walked, I was watching people around me: a strangely petite man with a latte larger than himself, a woman sneering at what would soon be her ‘ex’, some construction boys in front of the chip wagon and smokers adorning the full frontal of every building.

Then, like a vision, I noticed one woman swaying down the street. She was wearing white jean hip huggers and fitted baby blue top, gorgeous full and shiny hair down to her shoulders, and a tiny little purse slung over her wrist. I was about 15 feet away from her and we were both headed in the same direction and so for a full block, I got to watch her sway through the crowd, flipping her hair every time she hesitated to move at a quick pace. I was fascinated with her movements: every man who walked past her (from either direction) was staring.

I was curious to see her face. I wanted to see how beautiful a woman with such confidence was, or just how beautiful her self-confidence may have made an otherwise normal face. And so my moment approached. She was standing at a street light, waiting for it to give her gracious sway the right of way…I sped up to make certain I would get a glimpse of the head that was carried by those hips.

As I approached, I was trying to figure out a way to get a clear look, without actually tapping her on the shoulder and then running away, giggling. Luckily, she made it easy…as soon as I landed on the corner to her left, she turned, gave me a once-over, a wink and a “nice shoes”…only, she was a man, a stunning Asian man.

We were given the right of way, and I simply stood on the street corner and watched as Mr. Sashay glided across the street without me, flipping his hair to the left as his hips shimmied to the right.

More feminine than I, had nicer hair than I, and knew how to start conversations with complete strangers more. Than. I. What could I do but cross the street in the other direction and wonder: Is he my competition? Is this what single women are up against in 2004? Do we have to dislocate our hips so that we may sway 2 mm more than that guy?

And more importantly, when did it become acceptable for 99% of the male population to check out other men who were so completely queer?

I never used to believe it, but maybe single-dumb really is a bitch.