In one of García Márquez’ short stories, a politician giving a speech is so self-centered and full of himself and verbiage, that butterflies come out of his mouth instead of words. Beauty and demagoguery replaced substance. At the bar, I did not have a professional politician in front of me, but a very amateurish one, indeed! His telling me how much he love and desire me to be there with him reminded me of García Márquez’ story. I could not tell him, “you are full of shit, queen”, because the whole situation was so fakish, pathetic, that I was in a sort of incredulity state, “does he expect me to believe what he is saying?”, while bored by what I had heard and seen so many times before. I had dealt with a few characters like him, not only at the College where I taught, where I had to deal with so many students who tried to mislead me in order to get away with poorly substantiated research papers, but I also had met quite a few gay men who tried to get me into bed faster than Santa Claus by surrounding me with words that were fancy butterflies. This time was not about someone trying to get me into bed, but about facing another fool full of himself, unaware that butterflies have wings, but humans can only float, and not for long since egos, at some point, will deflate.
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