Don’t Tell Me!

I was browsing the outlet mall on Saturday afternoon as I often do when in the mood to meet new
people, when I found myself in a certain well known lingerie shop. A particularly striking mannequin
caught my eye. It stirred something within me--a lost memory perhaps. I don’t know if it was the Mona
Lisa smile or the pensive brow, but I found myself staring trance-like for several moments until the form
of a young woman eclipsed the object of my fascination. The young woman cast me a wide-eyed look of
admiration as she swung by, obviously impressed by my appreciation of sculpture. I accepted the
invitation and immediately engaged her in conversation. “I’m heterosexual,” I said innocently.

“Excuse me,” replied the young woman very deliberately as her ears laid back responsively and her eye
holes receded to mere slits. “What did you say?”

“I just wanted you to know,” I said. “I think people should always be completely honest about who they
are.” After giving her a moment to reflect, I asked, “Don’t you?”

The young woman blinked, and then turned coyly and walked off. I watched her hips arc stiffly as she
strode away. “Like windshield wipers on short-pause,” I thought to myself as she disappeared past the
Kylie Bisutti nightgown display. I quickly pursued her into the bra section.

Swinging her head nonchalantly as if to examine the coral Maidenform 34D on her left, she caught a
glimpse of me following her. Pivoting abruptly toward me, and with her hands resting provocatively on
her hips, she leaned forward. “Well,” she said impatiently!

“I’m straight,” I said very deliberately. Sometimes it pays to re-emphasize a point.

Evidently I was speaking too loudly to suit her. “Look,” she replied in a harsh whisper, “I’m in kind of a
hurry and I’m not really interested in….”

I could see by the look of confusion on her face that she still misunderstood me, so I jumped in with a
clarification before she could embarrass herself. “What I mean to say,” I continued, “is I’m straight--not
gay—you know--not into guys.” I mouthed these words as if speaking to a deaf person.

“Well, Duh” she blurted out like a like perfect valley girl! (This ordinarily indicates I am making
progress.) “Anyone could see that much from the way you were staring at that thong,” she continued in
a tone of mock contempt! “But I’m not really interested in….”

“I know,” I interjected, “you’re in a hurry. Can I drive you somewhere? I’m going there.”

“Where,” she snapped!

“Somewhere, I said.” I could see that I was moving too slowly. “Somewhere,” I repeated. “Anywhere.
Wherever you’re going. And I wasn’t staring at a thong!”

“This is getting totally creepy,” she said. I want you to leave me alone or I’m going to call the manager
and have you thrown out of here.”
I knew she was joking, but I decided to play along. “What’s the idea, Dear,” I responded while raising
one eyebrow in my best Humphrey Bogart impression, “are we playing ‘Don’t ask—Don’t tell’?” I smiled
engagingly while allowing her time to absorb the humor of my remark.

“Listen,” she said, “I know you don’t mean any harm but it just isn’t appropriate right now, and here of
all places, for you to be telling me, or anyone for that matter, about your sexual orientation. So be a
nice old man and leave me alone!

“When would it be appropriate,” I asked. “Should I tell you in the car on the way to your house?”

I could see she wanted to encourage me further, but we were interrupted by the store manager. “Is
everything all right here,” asked a frumpy graying woman who was nearly half my age?

I decided to humor her. “This young lady was just telling me how she feels it is inappropriate for me to
tell people I am heterosexual,” I informed her. Do you think that is inappropriate?

“Of course it is,” she said! “I think you should leave her alone unless you are her grandfather!

“Always inappropriate,” I asked?

“Certainly,” the matron replied!

“What about in the army?”

“What about the army,” the woman demanded suspiciously!

“Well, say I’m taking a shower in boot camp and a fellow recruit cozies up behind me and informs me he
is homosexual. Would that be appropriate?”

“Of course not,” she snapped! “But you’re too old to be in the army.”

“Barack Obama says it’s appropriate,” I responded. “He thinks the policy of ‘Don’t Ask—Don’t Tell’ is
unfair to ‘gays’. He thinks they should be allowed to tell anyone they want to about their sexual
proclivities.”

The old maid knit her brow just like my fifth grade teacher, Miss Blynn. “The army is a different matter,”
she said. The point is, people would really prefer not to know about your sexual inclinations. It makes
them uncomfortable.”

“Don’t you think the guy in the shower makes me uncomfortable,” I asked?

She stared for a moment, trying to put it all together. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those weird
characters who like to follow teenage girls around the mall,” she asked accusingly?

“How do you know they’re weird,” I asked. “Do they tell you?” I winked at her. She just squinted at me
in disbelief. “Actually, I said, I prefer to think of myself as a chaperone. But getting back to the army,
what if he just stares at me?”
“Well I suppose you might just ignore him,” she said. “There’s no harm in a look.”

“Ok,” I said, dropping my glance indiscreetly to her slumping bosom, “but remember when the feminists
got their panties all in a bunch over men who ‘undressed them with their eyes’? Why should I have to
put up with that very same thing in the army?”

She wasn’t listening any more. She was tracking the trajectory of my focus. “What are you gaping at,”
she demanded as I continued to stare vacantly at a point well south of her chin. She began to back away
uncertainly.

“There’s no harm in a look,” I said reassuringly while continuing to stare as a mask of cold revulsion froze
over her pudgy little face. “Just ignore me!” I winked again.

“Security,” the woman screamed!

If I had gone quietly, I probably would not have taken such a beating. But I was trying to make an
important point, so I couldn’t let it go. “When, exactly, is it appropriate for a homosexual in the military
to inform his fellow soldiers that he is peculiarly attracted to their private parts,” I choked out as I was
being dragged across the floor? “Wouldn’t it be better for everyone if he just kept that sort of thing to
himself?” At this point one of the security men was trying to muzzle me, so my words came in gasps. “If
a male soldier is not permitted to…to directly announce his sexual interest in…in a female soldier,” I
continued as my forehead collided with the glass door, “why should he be permitted…permitted to
announce that sort of interest in…in a fellow male soldier with whom he shares the same…the same
sleeping and bathing accommodations?”

By now a small crowd had gathered, but I must have garbled my words worse than I imagined because
no one tried to answer. I felt invigorated by the tussle, though I will admit I was a little disoriented from
my collision with the sidewalk.

“Are you all right, Grampa,” said the young woman in a tone of gentle patience as she helped me up off
the cold pavement? “Come on! It’s time to be going home. Did you forget where we were?

“No, Dear,” I replied, “This is the United States of America!”

Jim Wagner