Derek Sissy Pants

Welp, it’s official. I just confirmed it. I am a sissy. A big soft-hearted pansy. The kind we all made fun of in elementary school. Yep, that’s me. You know how I know? I just got done watching…uhm, you’re gonna have to bear with me. It’s a little bit embarrassing and to be honest I’m in sort of an emotional and vulnerable state right now. I just got done watching a romantic comedy… There, I said it. And you’re right, I do feel better. But still, it’s not exactly something I’m proud of. Neither my being a sissy pants nor that I watched a chic flick… and liked it.

I’m sitting in a plane on the way back from a month in Africa writing a blog when I decide I’d take a break and entertain myself with what would undoubtedly be another one of those crappy flix that leave you wondering why you decided to watch a movie instead of sleeping, writing, reflecting, or scratching your eyes out (all of which are better options than the feeling you get at the end of 2 hours of a predictably bad plot supported with terrible acting).

So there I am vulnerably sorting out all the sights and emotions of my time in Africa, when BOOM out of nowhere I find myself wrapped up in an airline blanky, giggling underneath my foamy earphones. Yes, I figured it was a chick flick. However, I totally thought I’d turn it off after 15 minutes to catch up on some z’s. I did not expect to get involved. And I definitely didn’t expect to find myself sighing inwardly like you might do after dropping a girl off from a date that went surprisingly well.

Luckily, I have both a window seat and my own row. Good I have my own row because there’s a fair chance that half way through this shameful treat I would have gotten all snuggly with the old lady sleeping next to me. Which obviously would have been weird for the old lady, me and everyone else in the plane. The window seat also came in handy when at the end of the movie the heart strings were gettin’ tugged on, and as I got a rocks in my throat was able to look out the window. Don’t worry I didn’t actually cry-I said I was sissy not a girl.

You know I used to be the realist who acknowledged that not all babies are cute. Yes, beauty is in the eye of the beholder and every parent thinks their child adorable, but that doesn’t mean it’s true. Or at least it didn’t, until recently. Suddenly, I’m standing in a crowd of snot-crusted, dirty orphans with soars all over their bodies thinking to myself, “Now that is adorable!”. I’m not sure what’s happening to me.

Like I said, I’m not proud of it. I don’t know when or how this all started. It might have been on the boat when after days and days at sea you begin to think than anything breathes and has opposable thumbs is beautiful. Whatever the case, I do know one thing, the first step to recovery is admitting the problem.

So that’s why I, Derek Preston Turner, am here to say, I… am a sissy pants…

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to rest. But first I might just see what’s playing…