What do a labor arbitrator, a radio personality, a teacher, an epidemiologist, a registered nurse, an education specialist, a bat expert, a physiology professor, and a defense lawyer for the Dept of Justice all have in common?
This past week, I found out. And, in the process, realized that much of that which unites us as human beings has little to do with our professions, and much to do with what we long to do after-hours.
"Shamash gets all hot under the collar when a retrosexual in his tight Wranglers walks by, even if he is a die-hard Replublican, and even if he likes to handle guns. Compare the hair-geled metrosexual who loves to shop to the retrosexual in scuffed shoes who just opened the door for you, and the retrosexual scores, hands down."
All Hail the Retrosexuals, and the knights in shining armor who protect the damsels in distress.
"Because Dancing Shoes considers us VIP indeed, he grabbed my arm, marched me through the cameras on tripods, magazine photographers, and representatives from Revlon, and sat us down in the seats as if we were The Queens of Y. One minute later, the first model was coming onto the stage. I looked over at him, and felt like Carrie Bradshaw sitting with Samantha Jones.
Only this ain’t no Manhattan, and this ain’t no “Sex and the City.”