What would we do without aggie? Without their compass, always pointing south, like the recently-rediscovered Viking navigation crystal used to find the sun from the arctic circle (no, I am not making this up) we might fear we were lost. We might wind up in Belgium.
I had occasion to retain the services of a professional this week, and I don't mean the kind you meet on South Congress who smells like a heavy metal band's smoke machine. I'd waited some time for this guy to be available, because he was said to be the best at what he did in the central Texas area. His prompt, efficient staff herded me into his office, where I shook his hand and quickly found that he understood my situation a lot better than I did, and had it under control. And there was a Texas A&M University diploma, big as Dallas, right there on his office wall.
Am I talking about a vet, a lawyer, a doctor, a contractor? Does it matter? No.
Did that diploma deter me? No. Why should that be a problem?
Aggie was also clearly gay. Now, I have to stop here and emphasize that my gaydar sucks. I've worked with people for years, only to find out later that they were gay when they mentioned their partner or something. Color me clueless, I hadn't made the connection between you going to the gym twice a day and all. Silly me.
And, I confess to you, that there's something about aggie that sets off my faulty gaydar. But, much like Stanislov Petrov, I don't trust my early warning system. Petrov didn't start World War III, and I don't ask if aggie knows my gay coworkers. I also don't ask Canadians that I meet if they know my Canadian friends. Disaster is, thus, avoided.
But then, his cell phone went off and removed all doubt. I know my EDM, sir. Glad to make the acquaintance of another Friend of Dorothy. No, I will not try to practice my Polari with you, rest assured. Mine is somewhat rusty, and reminds me too much of futile nights in lesbian bars. And Ace of Base. Let us not speak of it.
So, the guy's gay. Am I talking about a top, a bottom, a submissive, a dominant, a watch queen, a size queen? Does it matter?
No, because that would be gay. Not in a bad way, but in a not-me way. I like the split tail, and one more gay guy equals one less member of the competition. One less fit, well-dressed, well-groomed member of the competition, come to think of it. Or rather he would(n't) be, if I weren't married. The English language fails properly to convey the contrafactual/non-optative levels of obviation at this anti-juncture. Suffice it to say that me've wereven't on-haven þrowðen swych taynt ypounden. No. Not at all.
Why? Because the only thing I know for sure when I'm around a gay guy, the only thing that I can be absolutely 100% certain of, is that I need to lose about 30 pounds.
There are a lot of things we'd like to opt out of. I don't see why we need to buy Stetsons for DPS. Resistol is good enough for any man, especially in the summertime. I'd like to stop paying for TexDOT until the people responsible for I-35 traffic flow are taken out and shot. Is that so much to ask? And where would the Longhorns' program be if our boosters only paid for negative defensive plays?
Don't answer that.
Thank you, aggie, for being aggie. When the times, they are a-changing, we need only look to you, and then walk in the opposite direction, in fullest confidence.