The Mime

9 Nov

With its great waters, Hurricane Sandy blew in a boatload of questionable bachelors.  Most of the men who messaged me last week looked as if they either had hair plugs or some sort of wig meant for a Hasidic woman.  And then there was The Mime.  In his picture he is in full mime regalia, holding a magnificent cluster of colorful balloons.  His profile states that he is a bisexual male mime in an open relationship with a bisexual female burlesque dancer.  How could I say no?  I too once dreamed of joining the circus.  What I learned from my blind date with The Mime is that mimes are dirty and also that they can speak when they’re on a date.

The Mime was forty minutes late and I was on my second hot toddy when he finally arrived.  He saddled up next to me, ordered a whiskey ginger ale, then stuck his tongue all the way out of his mouth, waggling it around histrionically searching for his straw.  The first question he asked me was: “What’s the most scandalous thing you’re wearing?”  I responded that it would probably be my Halloween socks and he winked, saying I didn’t want to know what he had on under his black mime pants.  “You’re probably right” I agreed.

The Mime was a small mime.  I would imagine that it’s easier to get out of invisible entrapments if you are diminutive and spry.  He had on a sports cap covering what I think was hair, a black outfit, some earrings… and a monumental mustache.  It was bushy and orange, with waxed tips curled upwards on either side.  He continuously spun his whisker-tips between his fingers and told me that 90% of his income was from his mustache.  A few hairs were alarmingly lengthy and stuck out from the rest of the ‘stache, which reminded me of the time I was disturbed greatly by a documentary about catfish.  The Mime smelled of dumplings and armpits, and sported glittery nail polish– his fingers alternating red and black.  This blind date marked several “firsts” for me:  I had never gone out with a mime before, or someone who was in an open relationship, and I certainly had never entertained a man who wears nail polish.

“Most of my mimes are dirty, but I don’t wanna offend your sensibilities,” he announced, “or maybe you’re the type of girl who likes a dirty mime…”  He said this and many other things throughout the evening in a Joe Pesci voice.  He then did the ol’ mime-in-a-box routine, eventually making his escape by way of chainsaw.  Once freed from the invisible box, The Mime explained that he worked at a burlesque show with his “partner.”  They were both on OKCupid looking for lovers individually AND as a couple.  Sadly, she was away on tour overseas with her Jewish lesbian dance counterpart and couldn’t be with us that evening.  Aside from the burlesque show, The Mime’s supplemental income came from working the door at some club in Manhattan– which, strangely enough, was where he developed his mime character.  He said people were a lot nicer about being kicked out or having their ID taken if it was done by a mime.

I asked The Mime what had brought him to New York.  Apparently he was working at a hot sauce store in Oklahoma when he and his girlfriend at the time decided to pack up and move to the Big City.  Soon after their arrival, they had the worst, most dramatic break up of all time.  “Wow, what happened?” I asked, and he responded with the wildest pantomime of the evening.  Arms and whiskers were flailing to and fro… and I couldn’t exactly follow what was going on, but I think it involved the death of a cat.  The bartenders were starting to stare and one of them wandered over to see what was going on.  “He’s a mime” I explained, and the bartender shook his head and walked away.  “So anyway, that’s ancient history and now I’m with Edwina, who’s like a gay man in a bisexual woman’s body!  She would reeeeally like you,” he said with a suggestive wiggle of an orange eyebrow.  I promptly changed the subject by pointing out that the birds giving each other the Heimlich Maneuver on the bar’s choking victim poster looked like cute little ghosts.  The Mime acted out receiving the Heimlich from a ghost versus a bird, and ended the scene by hacking up an invisible object onto my lap.  “Gross” I said, and he apologized by miming the removal of his testicles, blowing them up like balloon animals, and offering them to me with a sheepish grin.  Oh dear, would you look at the time!  We walked outside and I began my standard goodbyes, during which he launched into one last mime of him trying to take me back to his place and get in my pants.  Much to his chagrin, I declined his bizarre proposition– the charm had worn off and I wanted a turkey sandwich.

This Thanksgiving, you can be thankful that you aren’t a single female in New York City.  Enjoy your time with your loved ones, and whatever problems you may have in your relationship, remember: it could be worse.  You could be warding off lascivious mime advances on a cold November night in the middle of Brooklyn.

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2 Responses to “The Mime”

  1. mime November 11, 2012 at 4:10 am #

    haterz gon hate

Trackbacks/Pingbacks

  1. What’s in the Bowl? | What's in the Box? - May 24, 2013

    […] about them?”  Most of the time, no.  Of course I knew what I was getting myself into with The Mime and The Hasid… but usually when I go on dates, I genuinely hope things go well.  Although, […]

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