Hello avid blog-readers - family, friends and the cyber-stalkers of the world that make the internet a dangerous place for a naive young gentleman such as myself.
Matt and Maddy kindly reminded me of an embarrassing moment that took place in Amsterdam that I happened to leave out of my blog. I was hoping to avoid entering the follow story into the public venue of cyberspace but have decided that it must be told. Maybe you will all feel my pain and find it appropriate not to make fun of me, but I find this will be quite unlikely.
Please, I ask you to be kind. Emily, I know this is unlikely and you will take great pride in constantly reminding me of this horrible incident.
The story begins in the super mega ultra rad store, H&M. Matt and Maddy were buying presents for friends, and I was just looking for shorts. Matt is a strong believer in shorts that are above the knee. I am not. However, I was in Amsterdam. I thought, yeah - try it James, you wear those shorts and you wear them good! So I did. I bought the short shorts [not too short, let me make that exceptionally clear. They were not hot pants.] and all was well.
The next day, when I was alone in ye olde Amsterdam and the weather was too warm for jeans - I did it. I wore the shorts, thinking I looked hip. THIS WAS NOT THE CASE. Then, when I was harmlessly walking to a supermarket with Lauren and she stopped to get cash out, I decided to wait by casually leaning against a brick wall. Now, leaning on a wall alone in the red light district wearing shorts is apparently not a swell idea for a pastey fair haired young man with previously mentioned boyish charm. A man approached me. And our conversation went a little bit like this.
Hello there. [that was him, not me. I do not speak to random fifty-something year old men in Amsterdam]
Eh... hello..... [this one was me.. but you probably got that from the hesitation which I hope was made clear by the multiplicity of the full stops.]
How are you?
Good thanks. [at this stage Lauren had come back but was standing behind the man wondering what was going on. I thought he was going to offer me drugs as this had been a rather frequent occurance]
How much?
Sorry?
How much?
For.........? [Lauren starts to laugh, and the man looks around. I was still trying to work out what was going on at this stage. I am naive.]
Oh... sorry.
What the fuck? Do you think I am a prostitute? A dude-hooker? What the fuck?!!!!!!
Sorry, sorry....
THIS [I said, pointing to my crotch in true over the top James Hickey fashion] is not for sale!!!!
And he walked away, embarrassed. While I stood there, embarrassed. People were staring at me. I assume they were wondering what my previous grotesque gesture had been about. And Lauren laughed. A lot. I hate those shorts. I hate hate hate those shorts. A LOT. Lauren suggested I should take it as a compliment. I did not. And I maintain that I do not look like a dude-hooker.
So that is the tale of how I was offered money in exchange for sexual favours. I am trying to convince myself that this happens to everybody once in their life.
The convincing is not going too well...
And my crotch is still not for sale.
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