Aha, say you, Dr Rundkvist is of the limp-wristed persuasion. I take it he engages in, ah, candy compression with his fellow man? He is no doubt a virtuoso of the salami saxophone?
No, I am sorry to disappoint some of you: I do not spoon with the spunky or undress with the andromorphous. But I am truly a most falsetto-tittering ponce.
Aha, you smirk knowingly, so this Martin is an aficionado of ladies' apparel! A bosom buddy of bustiers? No -- no -- it's a drag, but seldom in fact have I appeared in womanly finery, and then only in theatrical situations. But, believe me, I am an utter and unabashed effeminate.
Well, you query in tones of incomprehension, wherein lies this over-touted fruitiness of yours? Do you shave below the level of your larynx? Do you change curtains with the seasons? Do you at least own a Barbra Streisand CD and DVD boxed set? No, no, no, and most regretfully no.
But, Dear Reader, I am still far-more-than-a-bit like that, I'm "as gay as a treeful of monkeys on nitrous oxide" (Gaiman and/or Pratchett). Behold!
I am the owner of a small grating iron dedicated to nutmeg! Yes! I bought it myself, to save the trouble of cleaning the multipurpose grater! Haha! I revel in glorious nancy-boyishness! I defy anyone to outgay me! Haha! Cosseted and uncloseted am I, owner of a gay grater -- and proud of it!
[More blog entries about gay, cooking; homo, matlagning.]