After my gig, a man in a silly sailor’s costume walked up to me. Here we go. Another stag-do-freak-a-ton. He introduced himself as Mark and explained himself. See, Mark was an actual sailor and worked for the Royal Navy in an actual nuclear submarine, where he spends three months at a time and then has ten days off. This was his first day off. He nodded towards the three big suitcases, he had brought with him.
Now. It’s really hard to not fall into the trap of slightly liking men in uniforms, but it’s without a doubt impossible not to indulge yourself in a fantasy, where your boyfriend spends three months in a closed space with only other men. The perfect man.
“I loved your set,” Mark said, “Especially the thing about men who likes fat girls. I can relate.”
Oh, can you? CAN YOU? Because you absolutely love us fat girls? Because you’re the perfectest man in the universe? In and out of water?
“Oh. How so?” I asked.
“Well, I’m a sailor.” he smiled, “Sometimes, we don’t get what we want either.”
“Yeah, we often have to settle!”
“You mean… Settle for a fat girl.”
“Uhm. When you say it like that, it sounds offensive.”
“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked.
“No, thanks, I’m tired. I’m going home.” I excused myself and left. On the bright side, I’ve never before thought there was anything at all positive about a nuclear war. And men in uniform are somewhat less interesting now.