I Knew What They Meant; I Just Wonder If They Knew What *I* Meant

Speaking of always being me . . .

Some time back I was invited to a particularly disreputable (not necessarily a drawback for me) and seedy (this, on the other hand, does run generally counter to my tastes) sort of establishment.  When I inquired what the appeal of this place was supposed to be, I was informed, “It’s the kind of place where one doesn’t have to be a ‘gentleman.’  You know, the sort of place where you don’t have to be yourself.”

“But no matter where I go,” I protested.  “I’m always myself, I can’t help it!”  (Now granted, if I’m always a “gentleman” or not seems to be a subject of some debate, but that’s another topic.)

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