x days to go

What I will do if I ever get to grow old and know death is more than figuratively just around the corner: Save up money. Go shopping – groceries, grosseries, large pint of ice cream, lots of bread, butter and cheese – stuff my face and then take a gun and a good aim at my head.

Is this a weird, weird world where the least thing you want to do is not leave it with an empty stomach after having been surrounded by abundance all the while? Foregoing everything that would make existence worthwhile seems such a no-brainer – I make my life hell, cause if I wouldn't, others would take care of that.

biology

Just a few nights ago, I sat in a kebap shop having a conversation with some of my biologically (so I assume) male friends. It involved the proper preparation of cous-cous. The discussion became heated when someone raised the question of when and where to add parsley. This was serious business – straight talk, man's talk – for I sat on the side, feeling utterly bored. Needing a drink.

So I quipped, "Really, sometimes I think I am the only guy here." They looked at me, stunned. Then one of them said, amazed, "But, mouton, that's just not possible. You are a woman." My retort, "Oh, are you sure? How do you know?" – "Because you are one. There are clear biological differences." There we go.

Not wanting to let it slide so easily, I continued, "But biology is a big word. Are we talking genetical, chromosomal, anatomical differences? How do you decide who falls into which category." (The rest of the table were rolling their eyes – not again.) "Well, if it has a penis, it is a man, if it hasn't, it is a woman." – "And intersex people?" The discussion somehow returned to cous-cous. Apparently, it is better with parsley.