We’re in the pub. A is telling B about C, who he has known for a few months. A explains that he first met C through Gaydar, the online “dating” (sic) service. Hesitantly, I chip in with a question.
“And has your friendship… retained that particular dimension?”
When did I get so delicate, so circumlocutional? Anyone else would have just spat it out. “Are you still shagging him, then?”
I am out of practice at all of this. Not so long ago, 50% of our conversation was who-shagged-who. Now, it’s all pruning tips, have-you-met-the-so-and-so’s, and proposals for the new village hall.
Which reminds me.
We’re in the car, our journalist friend in the back seat, and we’re talking about the indiscretions of youth. Or rather, I’m bragging about the copious indiscretions of my own youth. (I use the term “youth” in its most relative sense.)
“I see. Goodness. Perhaps I should be drafting your obituary?”
His concern, though misplaced, is touching.
“Oh, don’t worry. There was never anything life-threatening about my particular repertoire. I was always more focused on the hors d’oeuvres than the entrées. As it were.”
That’s the thing about circumlocution. There’s so much more scope.
troubled diva 