It would appear, quite improbably, that since arriving in New York, I’ve turned into a girl.
I know, I’m as surprised as you. The chauvinism; the inability to use a washing machine; the complete look of panic and bewilderment if I stumble into the make-up section of a department store— the signs were all against this discovery, but the evidence doesn’t lie. Since I’ve been in New York, I’ve bought three pairs of shoes and been sorely tempted by more. Although however seductively and salaciously these red loafers looked at me, I couldn’t quite bring myself to go that far:
It’s not that I arrived here barefoot – though I wouldn’t put that past me – I’d brought with me a pair of shoes and a pair of trainers, which should have been enough for any occasion, and yet I felt myself irresistibly drawn into places I’ve previously feared, and browsed the racks alone, with no threat of violence or unlikely incentive at my back, driving me to do so.
In my defence, somewhat, I should point out that shoes here are cheap. To prevent any girls getting too excited, and planning their visits to NYC to revolve around shoe-shopping, or endlessly checking their post for shoe-boxes from Manhattan, I should point out that it’s only guys’ shoes that are cheap. Girls’ shoes are made of molten lava and rusty nails and all cost in excess of $18million. Each. So, that’s the end of that. Here’s some of my new shoes:
There is, however, a slight downside to having beautiful, beautiful shoes (and hats) over here though. You see, there’s quite a well-established game in the USA called Gay or [just] European?. Seriously, people play it in bars. With me as the subject.
For the record, I’m statistically European so far.