Apollo High School

I'd like to first of all get the fact that I don't actually have a girlfriend- currently- out of the way before I start this piece. This, of course, doesn't mean anything. I could very well get one if I really wanted to. It's not as if I was some pathetic loser, who was incapable of attracting a member of the opposite sex, because that obviously isn't at all true. There are, I'm sure, a number of ladies that are just dying for their chance at me. I mean...
(Note: The joke that once accompanied this set up was in such bad taste that I opted to edit it out myself. This being said: I'm not particularly a fan of self-censorship, or any kind of censorship for that matter, and, am sad to admit that, in my old age, I have become somewhat soft on the matter.)

But, despite the fact that I'm currently playing the field, and single for no reason other than because I want to be, I do remember a time when a women had sunken her meat hooks into me, and I was, therefore, obligated to purchase her a gift of some sort. Or else pay the dire consequences reserved for those who have angered the most delicate and short tempered of God's many creatures.

I, being the averagely decent human being I am, completely devoid of shame and, when in a relationship, any hints of masculinity, actually bought her a Barbie as a gift. No man, unless in my shoes, knows fully the humiliation that accompanies such an purchase. You try to hide it, pressing it between other gifts, but- oh, no- it's far too massive and pink to be hidden that easily. And, nothing, but nothing, can hide it from the eyes of the salesclerk, who glares at you, full of judgement and disgust. I'd like to say that the look on her face, as she unwraps her brand new Malibu Barbie will erase the humiliation that it's purchase had created, but, alas, not even lava- the strongest of disinfectants- could cleanse you of that kind of emotional wound.

I still wake up sometimes, in the middle of the night, with sweat soaking through my clothes, and with tears just collecting in the corner of my eyes, and I can't help but think about the utter futility of my existense. That doesn't have anything to do with the experience I just described, but still, that's kind of sad. I mean,really, I might want to get that checked out. It could be the start of a serious trauma that could leave me a shell of a man. Merry Christmas.