Goodness, I just realized that my owner of the coffee shop where I “work” (those quotation marks are meant to be invalidating; I would not dare call my lounging near an espresso machine and masking my scorn for suburban business-people with giggles “work”) is a poor facsimile of Mel Gibson’s character in What Women Want - and I realize that it is totally embarrassing to be familiar with the ins and outs of such a “film” (again, invalidating quotation marks), but it was on TBS or TNT or some shit television station one insomnia-ridden night and I gave in to the hope of a good romantic comedy (lesson learned - talk about a movie with disgustingly excessive product placement!) - a twenty-first century alpha male content with asserting affected masculinity because he is convinced that it is unassailably charming, which is constantly affirmed to him by the droves of tolerant people who surround him, each of whom is simply trying to be polite on their own, but who as a collective have convinced this rather common man that his swagger is justified, which is truly unfortunate - but I think the real point is that I need to stop giggling so much at work–I mean, “work.”