After work on Friday, I swung by Andy’s to hang out before we went to the movies. On our way out, we passed the front hall table in the lobby of his apartment building and I noticed a very fabulous and very gay men’s clothing catalog. As Andy rolled his eyes at me, I grabbed it and as soon as we got to the car, we cracked it open. The pages were packed, at first with beefy men sporting bizarre and unexplainably complicated underwear, and then with models in the most hilarious clothes ever produced in Euro-trash factories. I’ve seen this genre of catalog before, and I adore it.
From leather pants that dramatically laced up the sides to gauze caftans for lounging around the pool at Fire Island, this catalog has it all. Apparently, this was a teenage Andy’s first version of porn, and now in that industry himself, he looked at the pages nostalgically, remembering how wonderfully forbidden he once found them.
“Oh, girl. I know! We each have to pick a guy on each page. You’ve got to find one that you’d be willing to sleep with.”
“No. There will be no talking.”
“Oh, okay. Got it.”
On some pages, we’d both lunge for the same guy, usually the lesser of several greased up evils. Occasionally, we’d have very opposing tastes, or find it difficult to select any one at all. I mean, these guys look like freaks. They’re beautiful and tan and muscley, but freaks.
“Oh, Miss Beth. I’m all up in his shit.”
“No way! That guy looks like the kind of guy that puts a roofie in your drink at tropical hotel bars. I like that guy.”
“That guy? You can’t be serious.”
“I think we can agree on him, then.”
“Oooooo. Yes! Next page.”
This went on for a good 15 minutes, Andy and I sitting in a parked car objectifying catalog models. I don’t know that we’ve ever laughed harder. As we drove away, I spotted a construction worker, and couldn’t help myself.
“Well, hello to YOU!” I screamed out the window, like a huge and embarrassing idiot.
“You know, Beth.” Andy said, as he looked over at me. “That little catalog game we played. That’s how men think all the time…”