Bear With?

Like I said last week, our Grizzlylocks has quite a few friends. Make that a literal pack. Not that it bothers me like it does Diffident David who finds himself irrationally jealous at times - though he might not care to admit it. The problem for us comes with trying to decide who actually knows.

When we first met Grizzlylocks some time ago, his irrepressible flamboyance pinged even our rusty gay-dars. Only the ever-present beard left us in slight doubt of his homosexuality though all that was all put firmly to rest when we heard Grizz attempt a reasonable impression of gay icon Judy Garland with her now infamous Trolley Song.

Clang clang clang went our gaydar indeed. Since that particular discovery, Grizz has lost no time in emphasizing his pronounced gayness, ringing out with merry showtunes and enthusiastically tapdancing at almost every opportunity. Letting his freak flag fly as it were.

However what might seem patently obvious to us is often quite downright murky to some. In fact according to a mightily insistent Grizz, most of his friends are still in the dark about his sexuality. Which is all fine by us since coming out is totally a personal decision.

Only thing is it's really hard to keep track of who knows.

And who doesn't.

Paul : Wait, lemme look at the list again.
Kat : So we think Jeremy knows.
Paul : But his wife doesn't. Jake doesn't know either.
Kat : Neither does Joe. 

Especially since Grizz doesn't seem to be hiding in the closet in the least. Talk of hot boys and gay porn randomly pepper his everyday conversation with very little restriction which leaves us all wondering how anyone else could possibly miss the obvious signs. Sometimes we don't know whether to continue with the shockingly eye-opening discussion or help him cover up the obvious cracks in his increasingly opaque closet.

Even his far from circumspect beard finds it hard to keep up!

Friend : Waitaminute, why are you watching gay porn? 
Grizz : Umm...
Paul : He meant lesbian porn of course. 
Friend : Oh. 

Grizz : You must watch Cucumber and Banana!
Friend : Wait, why are you watching a gay-oriented show so enthusiastically? Are you trying to tell us something?
Paul : Well obviously he likes food-themed shows as well. 
Friend : Oh. 

And that's the very least of his Freudian slips. Are we seriously pretending that his bewilderingly oblivious friends don't know at all?

Our Madison Avenue

Ever since the Roaring Twenties, Madison Avenue in New York has become almost synonymous with the American advertising industry, even serving as the inspirational backdrop for the oh-so-chic Mad Men. Even today, it's not difficult to picture beautifully appointed fashionistas flicking through Tindr with their perfectly manicured nails as they browse through the many posh boutiques and stores along this historical avenue searching for that perfect outfit.

But that's way on the far side of the globe. Here on our side of the Big Pond, our very own Madison is decidedly more ... casual.

Or at least our Mad Madison is. Fashion-wise anyhow. Her very own inimitably laidback beachwear style which she customarily defends quite vehemently with the all-too-general catch-all 'It's comfortable!'. Sure I could expound all day about purchasing fashionable workwear that still manages to provide reasonable comfort but I doubt it would lend on receptive ears.

Hmm. Perhaps I could reserve comment? 

Well at least till today when a chance meeting at a cafe with four tart young things in tees and thongs left her with a bit of sour instead. These girls were entirely reminiscent of the heinous Little Miss Socialistas I once spied on back in the city - except on this side of the Big Pond, these tart young things dressed up in rumpled tees and ratty shorts straight out of the laundry basket.

No doubt extremely exorbitant and shockingly branded but on them it could have been less than bargain basement goods. And that goes for the unfortunate Phillip Lim handbag carelessly drooping from one of the Miss Casualistas as well.

There's casual street chic. And then there's sloppy hobo wear. And for the first time, I wasn't the only one doing the venomous judging. Well, at least not much.

Madison : Oh dear, do I actually dress like them? Am I that bad? Paul?
Paul : ....
Madison : Paul?
Paul : ....
Madison : Trust me, your silence isn't helping.
Paul : I was hoping that was rhetorical. Let me take a moment, why not pose that question to Kat first?
Madison : Kat? Do I dress like them? 
Kat : .....
Madison : How about you, Sam? 
Sam : ....
Madison : OMG.

Coming from Madison who's all about casual chic, that's not exactly complimentary. All in the intonation. Since none of her all-too-judgemental friends could muster up a decently innocuous reply, it wasn't long before Madison let out a disheartened wail that grew ever louder when the Miss Casualistas started striking poses and snapping selfies.

Madison : Dressed like that? 
Paul : Well they probably always dress like that. 
Madison : I don't wear that, do I? 
Paul : You do know she has the same tee-shirt you're wearing now? 
Madison : Noooo......

Seriously, dress up people. Who are you dressing down for?

Allura Returns to Deceive

I've always been a tad cynical.

The more outwardly saintly a person appears, the more suspicious I get. Smiley Sunday Samaritans toting portable Bibles and brollies make me wonder if they're hiding rotting corpses in their backyard. Righteous bearded clerics in their heavy robes ranting about the greatness of their religion only has me checking whether there's an armed Uzi and a heavily pregnant tween hidden behind them.

These are the ones I always keep an eye out for.

Just like the seemingly righteous Princess Allura - who has finally crawled out of the darkest depths after making her disappearance nearly ten years ago. Unsurprising since she basically killed off everyone she knew including her poor hapless fiancee. Just because.

Apparently though bad pennies keep turning up since the murderous princess from the game Trapt has made a return in Deception IV : Blood Ties. Though she now goes by the even more deceitful name of Laegrinna.

The inconsequential change of name certainly doesn't make her any less wickedly vicious. Though she might play the innocent victim all dolled up in a frilly lil dress, don't be fooled by her gentle placidity - seeing as she can barely physically defend herself - for she lays the most horribly sadistic traps known to man.

Or woman.

Not even pretty-boy looks are enough to save her unfortunate enemies. If she had little qualms eviscerating her much lamented fiancee, I doubt any of the others would fare better.

Trust me, not a ride you want to be taking anytime soon. 

This girl is a monster.

Straight Men Don't Get Pashminas

Ever since we've met him, Diffident David has always adamantly maintained that he passes for 'straight'.

Whatever the hell that means.

Much to his consternation, we usually reiterate repeatedly that a neat freak obsession with perfectly mussed-up hair and meticulously folded sleeves - coupled with that teensy bit of a swish sway when he flounces - reads as totally, utterly stereotypically gay. Blinding neon pink flashing sign patently obvious to anyone watching, short of the seriously visually impaired.

Of course he doesn't see it. Much like Mercurial Marshall before him who's practically gay enough for a dancing pride parade of shirtless go-go boys to drift by whenever he sashays by - and yet fervently insists that he's desperately hush hush discreet at work.

No one knows? Seriously?

The boys doth protest too much, methinks. Isn't it odd that the stereotypically gayest boys always think that their glass closets are impenetrable to others? Despite desperately trying to cover up your sexual proclivities with a lowered baritone and a macho strut, trust me - especially the boys working in the hospitals - the nurses always know. At least the more perceptive ones. Some of the doctors would know as well, after all we spend half our lives observing human behaviour and the peculiar nuances thereof.

Maybe if I walk really, really slow, no one would know!

Which is something our David is still living in dread of. Though something tells me he doesn't need to worry any longer.

David : I got a gift from the nurses the other day. 
Paul : That's nice of them. 
David : Take a look. 
Paul : Wait, that's a pashmina. 
David : Oh, is that what they call it? 
Paul : That's a pashmina. 
David : Yes?
Paul : They know you're gay. 
David : What?!

Really? A pashmina.

Don't get me wrong, I love silky soft pashminas and have used them as scarves as well. In fact Charming Calvin spends hours just rearranging his scarves into dozens of fashionable permutations whenever we're in a temperate country.

But really, when was the last time you heard of any man - even a gay man - receiving a faintly feminine pashmina for a parting gift?

Yes, truly cosmopolitan metrosexuals could pull it off quite easily with savoir faire - but a pashmina in a soft lavender paisley? With short tassels? Over here in a our steadfastly conservative nation, it would ring a dozen bells of homosuspicion!

Dangerously Devout Duennas

Though I dub their quarters a domicile, the more appropriate name for the Draconian Domicile for the Dogmatic Duennas would be a cloistered convent. Lest you wonder how the three highly individualistic duennas came together - seeing as how they have so very little in common from Yoga Ysabel to Sober Sophia, they actually share a single terrifyingly doctrinal religion that governs every single minutiae of their everyday lives.

Christianity.

Excuse the bold letterings but each time they reverently mention the word, it's truly strikingly ... emboldened for want of a better word. For the trio of zealous duennas, Christianity isn't just a mere religion but an entire all-encompassing way of life!

As they spoke so fervently of their religion, I felt as if I'd stumbled into my old college days when the entire Christian Fellowship would come over to strum the communal guitar and sing devotional hymns in my room! For some inexplicably divine reason, my roommates always turned out to be the head of the fellowship which obviously drew the entire flock to my room. Much to my dismay. It's one thing to discuss religion with my newly anointed roommate in the late evenings - and quite another to have a dozen devout apostles in a room chanting verses and sharing weepy testimonies till the wee hours of the morning.

The First Communion? 

So you can imagine my growing horror when Marvellous Mabel started her spiel. For weeks I had been wondering why none of the young fellows in town had managed to draw their feminine attention. It suddenly dawned on me then that the problem with the eligible bachelors in town wasn't their diverse personalities but their opposing religious beliefs.

Mabel : First and foremost, he must be Christian. 
Paul : Any denomination will do? 
Mabel : Yes. 
Paul : So Catholic boys are alright? 
Mabel : Catholics aren't Christians!
Paul : What?! 
Mabel : They just aren't. 
Paul : We'll get back to that shocking issue later - but really that's your first criteria? To be Christian? 
Mabel : I believe we should share similar beliefs, views and goals in life. So if he's already Christian, it would simplify matters. After all 'be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers -'
Paul : Madre de Dios.

Oh dear God.

Faith is wonderful indeed but when it becomes far too rigidly exclusionary, that can be a problem. Rather than preaching tolerance and unifying humankind, faith then draws the diving line with the faithful Us against the non-believers Them. Even amongst the faithful Us, there starts to be minor divisions between those who are seen to be holier and those who aren't. The Holier-Than-Thou Syndrome?

Of course like I said this isn't my first time faced with such religious dogmatism so I told Mabel this.

Paul : Imagine if Jesus were in a room. Do you think he would say you must only marry another Christian? 
Mabel : Yes. 
Paul : I think you better read the Bible again.