I.
It's Saturday night, I'm ironing my shirts. Oh, don't feel sorry for me. I do go out, at odd times, when other people work, when you work, when you think your girlfriend is at work. Don't blame me. It's just a thing she does, like scratching herself shortly after she wakes up. It is inconsequential: She's still sitting next to you on the couch, although we have met earlier today. But you know, the real difference between the two of us is knowledge. I know how she smells, but you will never know how I smell, because she tells me not to wear cologne when we meet.
II.
So because I didn't answer your message, you think I'm arrogant, you're good-looking and you know it, you say. I'll tell you something: You don't know anything. You don't know how much it costs to be me. Not financially, dear me, no, although those polo shirts are indeed quite expensive. No, I'm talking about emotional costs. Do you know how hard it is to keep up the attitude, to pretend everything's cool when you would like to scream? But i can't scream, the people I hang out with would not like that. So I keep smiling and pretending, and I keep laughing at you, because it keeps me from crying.
III.
Finally Crescendo. Can you feel the music swelling, the lights brightening? It's the moment I've been waiting for, all those long hours at the gym, in front of mirrors, at the barber's, at clothing stores and in my bathroom. And when you look at me, bewildered, admiring, fascinated, I look at her, straight into her eyes. Yes, it's been worth all that. I got her. This moment may be ephemeral, and yet it's eternal: It's my moment of glory, the light I bask in, even when I'm back home on a Saturday night, ironing my shirts.
