It’s the feeling of being put on the spot and not knowing what to say — and even if you did know what to say, you’re afraid to say it because you don’t want it to be the wrong thing to say.
I first remember feeling it in second grade, when a pack of older guys at recess called me over one day and stuck out a Motley Crue tape.
“Are these boys or girls?” they asked, snickering, of the accompanying photo of four individuals wearing more rouge than anyone I’d seen up to that point.
I felt cornered — plus, I was 7 — which means I didn’t have the wherewithal to say, “If the gender of your favorite band is this vague, maybe I’m the one who should be snickering.”
But I wanted to be cool.
So I guessed.
“Girls.”
They started laughing.
I stand by my answer.
It’s actually been a good, long while since I’ve felt that feeling.
In fact, at 34, I didn’t think it was even still possible.
I mean, I’m done trying to be cool.
Or so I thought until recently, when I made my way toward the pajama section of the eastside Walmart.
I was in need of some extra pajamas, and seeing as how they now make fun pajama pants for men these days, it only became a question of Marvel or DC.
Did I want Iron Man or Batman pajamas?
I already had a pair of pajama pants adorned with Silver Age Marvel icons, so I decided to go with the pair covered in the classic ’60s logos of various DC characters.
But to get to my new pajamas, I had to first get past an older couple checking out the same selection.
I’d guess they were probably in their 60s.
“Can I ask you a question?” the man said.
“Sure,” I replied, assuming perhaps that he was going to ask me to explain the difference between the Justice League and the Avengers, or maybe he just wanted to know who this “Martian Manhunter” was.
I would’ve been happy to oblige with either, but it was neither.
“Are you picking out pajamas for yourself,” he wondered. “Or your son?”
Without warning, the feeling was back.
“Um,” I awkwardly mumbled, not exactly sure how to answer. “What if I said they were for me?”
Now this guy clearly was bewildered, like he’d just come face-to-face with a transvestite at the local Walmart.
“I guess that’s the difference between this generation and mine,” he responded, as if to imply that our national security could one day be compromised because my generation is populated by men who wear Hulk pajamas.
His wife quickly stepped in to lighten the moment, revealing that she was picking out a pair of these superhero pajamas for her own son, also in his 30s.
You could tell she was trying to be accepting of our lifestyle, but why a grown man would want Spider-Man pajamas was obviously lost on her, too.
“These are supposedly ‘in’ right now, right?” she asked, cautiously inspecting a pair.
“I guess,” I replied. “Although, I’ve never worn mine out in public before, so I really don’t know.”
When it was over, I’ll confess it made me wonder.
Perhaps my nervousness was, in fact, some sort of subconscious recognition of the fact that a 34-year-old man should not have Aquaman jammies.
Contact this reporter at (937) 328-0352 or amcginn@coxohio.com.
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