Bi-Curious & Other Tales

Today at the lunch table, where the conversation usually veers from the rotten food towards the risque, a colleague of mine dropped a bombshell:

Men notice women. Women, on the other hand, notice
both men and women.

Um um!

No issues on the first part. Almost every man aspires to be a lovable lecher (A title held by Asimov, before he succumbed to the dratted HIV), but usually manages the latter title. The ones who don't are usually either (a) good at hiding their gazes or (b) gay. I used to think Einstein was an exception till I read about his escapades in one of his biographies. If the tales are half correct, he didn't have much time in between leching and sleeping around to cast a glance at E=Mc2. And poor Mileva had to do the tensor calculus for him.

OK, accepted.

But if my colleague is correct, women are (in the words of a journo acquaintance), bi-curious. Not bi-sexual, mind you, or we'd be living in a Joan Russ world, but clearly enough to hurt the egos of a lot of preening peacocks. I mean, what's the use of thinning your wallet to get that stud look if the girls are actually wondering about the vital statistics of the new girl in the corner cubicle? At least half the time. It would be a shock for many of my college friends, who spent most of their waking hours thinking of the inhabitants of Meera Bhavan, to realise that they were being thought of only half the time. What a waste!

Of course if you were me, you'd welcome the state of affairs. When you dress to look like a walking garbage bin, and have been too lazy to shave, and reek of mebendazole laced sweat, you'd be glad if the ladies looked the other way. Anything is better than having to spend hours in looking presentable. Slobs of the world, rejoice. Our keepers aren't bothered about us, half the time.

Yippee!