ON MY WAY to take my GMATs this morning, I saw a man on rollerblades weaving in and out of lanes on a very busy thoroughfare in Washington. He wasn't wearing a helmet. This sort of blantant disregard for personal safety brings out mixed emotions in me. One part of me wants to grab the person and shake them and tell them to be careful before something terrible happens. Another part of me secretly wants it to.
As I watched, expecting/fearing/wishing for him to be mauled by a car before my very eyes, I realized in horror that he was doing a full ice capades routine, right down Connecticut Avenue. He zoomed up ahead with powerful strokes, and then crouched down and pooched his butt out, spreading his arms wide and waving from side to side with one of those faux euphoric smile plastered on his face.
When I first noticed him (and, really, how could you not?), he had the road all to himself and he was making use of three full lanes. Moments later, however, the cars came up behind him and began honking, which he misinterpreted as encouragement. He smiled more broadly, and – I shit you not – lifted one leg off the ground while waving at an imagined crowd. 30,000 invisible elderly women swooned.
Do you know what I have to say to that?
Gay.
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