Bugaboo: Anything we have that makes us think we’re different from everyone else.
Every man I’ve ever known has a bugaboo. Jean-Baptiste was abandoned in Chicago by a lover after Jean-Baptiste quit his job and ran from Paris; Ross Ross is a southpaw; D. had been maliciously assaulted by a former lover; Pup had been debilitatingly dyslectic as a child; Otter writes his numbers and letters backwards; I was an idiot in high school and place in three solid years of wood shop.
But bugaboos are our intimacies. They’re not what separate us, but what makes us more similar.
When you first meet someone you’re mesmerized by their flanks, their thighs or eyes or smiles. But it’s once we’re naked do we undress ourselves and show who we really are.
It’s these intimacies which always move me.
When a man has the ease to show me his deficiencies, I show him mine.
Arent we all just embarrassed children looking for other embarrassed children?