Something about Laksa

There's something about laksa.

Or maybe it's something about laksa and me. Must be something terribly suspicious ( or gay ) about the way I eat laksa that makes everyone suddenly sit up, swallow hard and take notice.

Racked with chills from an on-going cold ( not helped by the harrowing on-call I had last night ), I hoped that the piquant, spicy heat from the laksa would help offset it. Despite being steeped in science-based academia, I'm still hopelessly swayed by the odd Eastern mysticism of balancing the yin yang. Or at least my own take on it.


Sometimes you just crave for more than bland cereal for breakfast!
Inspired by my choice, my other breakfast companions - all various members of my midnight sausage gang - decided to risk the same. Couldn't be any more reckless than the dubious risk of feasting on a rickety makeshift table only a hairsbreadth away from a rushing storm drain.

We doctors like to live on the edge. All that adrenaline rush, you see. How else would we live on radioactive noodles and moldy bread?

Seems like my enthusiastic recommendation of Queer as Folk the other day didn't go unnoticed by the rest of the gang. One was particularly perspicacious - and despite an odd penchant for limpnecked soft toys and leather boots, seems like our Statuesque Sarah doesn't miss much.

During a lull in the spirited conversation, when Sarah turned to me with a somber look, I knew what the question was even before she posed it. Something in that searching look as if somehow folks always expect the homos ( no doubt looking like a deer caught in headlights ) to screech, turn tail and run when this question comes up.

Sarah : I have a personal question to ask.
Paul : Ask away.
Sarah : What's your preference - guys or girls?
Paul : Guys of course.

Seriously. It was that simple. Could have issued a blanket denial like any sleazy politician would but figured it wasn't worth the bother. Any passing thought I had of misdirection or prevarication faded away a long time back - especially after I realized no benefit would come from denying the truth when it was patently obvious to everyone else around me. Well, maybe all excepting Fab Fiona.

And somehow that is always followed by the gay witch-hunt question of 'who else?'. The only thing I gotta say to that is this... hey if the guy's not telling, leave him alone. Who he fucks is entirely his problem.

Coincidentally this very same question was posed to me during a similar laksa breakfast post-call exactly two years ago by Shameless Shalom. Maybe laksa is the official coming out breakfast. Maybe March is the official coming out month. So yes, I'm gay - despite being the sloppy troll-like antithesis ( antichrist? ) of the slick, coiffed and buffed homosexual clone. No doubt I'd be drummed out of the exclusive pink society if I didn't suck a dick every other month.

So guys or girls? Apples or oranges? Or more likely, oysters or snails? Maybe Antoninus could tell us more.