Not so wimpy

The Wimpy Catholic has been on a roll lately, and I wanted to look at someone (you, dear reader, as Charlotte Bronte might call you) and point out his bon mots to someone who might also appreciate them.

On May 4, 2012, in Mark Shea and the Gay Saint:

LGBT issues have a special place in my heart for a very personal reason: to this day, I’m amazed I’m not gay. My being straight seems like a terrible oversight on somebody’s part. Unathletic, expressive, creative, quick to tears and worshipful of my mother, I’m a total nance whether you want to quote Jung or Bensonhurt folk wisdom.

On May 7, 2012, in In Defense of Tattoos:

I got my first three tattoos in the space of five months, when I was 17. It took me only a few years to recognize that every single one of them was cheesy enough to spread on a Triscuit.

On May 10, 2012 in Life After Sex?:

Of course, there’s more to chastity than not shacking up with someone. If you’re a woman, chances are good I’ve seen you naked in my mind’s eye. (Quit worrying — you looked fine. Skeletons are for Halloween.) I learned this trick when I was 14; by now it’s a reflex. How unfortunate, then, that Jesus found this kind of thing so loathsome that he proscribed it by name when preaching on the Mount.

Max Lindenman, the author of this blog, wins my admiration for being so open and honest about himself. It's an oddity of my character that I like to blog and yet I really don't want to open my heart for public scrutiny. Like Holden Caulfield, I don't want to go into all that David Copperfield kind of crap, or give myself or anyone connected with me two hemorrhages apiece because I told anything pretty personal about them. Hence my tendency to write about my flowers.

Although I do love my flowers. That is for real.