He walked away with his latest….whatever. I sipped my wine while I watched him silently.
“You don’t like him very much, do you?” She asked.
“Was it that obvious?”
“That wasn’t a conversation,” she said, “Not sure what that was but it wasn’t a cordial chat.”
I scanned the gathering without really paying attention. “He’s an asshole looking for more people to worship him. I’ve got enough wannabe god-geniuses competing for my attention.”
She leaned close to me, by my side. “You love being an outsider.”
“Yep.”
“Or maybe…,” she said with an odd tone, “…you just like the idea of being an outsider. I remember someone I respect highly telling me that a sizable percentage of activist thought is penis envy.”
“I believe I said, at the time, that a sizable percentage of activist thought was a desire for role reversal. I don’t recall using the term ‘penis envy.’”
“I added that myself. Men. You know….” She said.
The show was starting and the crowd began to move to the main room.
“I’m kinda flawed.” I said. I set down my empty wine glass.
“There you go again, thinking you’re the only one.” She grabbed my hand as we found our seats, “That guy….I could tell….he IS kind of a tool…”




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