I forgot part of the story. It hit me today during a chat on Twitter revolving around the missed opportunity to go FULL THUNDERDOME while on a date with Mel Gibson’s (Older, Not As Good Looking) Brother. For those of you who were not alive in the 80s, or who just don’t know what going FULL THUNDERDOME is like, it goes something like this:
After I ditched “Mel Gibson’s Older (Not As Good Looking) Brother” at the café, which felt like this:
I came home, showered off the smell of disaster, and opened my email.
Now, I know what you’re thinking and, no, he did not send me a picture of Little Mel.
That happened on a different night, different guy.
He wrote to talk about what a wonderful time he had…
And how I was at my most beautiful when my personality was …soft.
I don’t know what he meant by that, really. My best guess is that, as a misogynist with Hitler issues, he meant those moments when I wasn’t having an opinion. Or starting a war somewhere.
And my reply went a lot like this: