Black loofah of potent masculinity...

I recently purchased a black loofah. I'm embarrassed to admit that I actually got excited when I saw it hanging in Walmart's health and beauty section. Let me explain my excitement.

I have this thing I call “The Gay Scale.” Every guy has a number. One would be the lowest possible amount of gayness, such as the Brawny man (and not that new “beardless” one, he's at least a three—I'm talking about the Brawny Man from the eighties, with that scruffy brown beard) and ten, being extremely gay, means that you engage in homosexual sex.

Now, being that I'm somewhat “artistic,” I'm naturally inclined to have quite a bit more gayness than the average guy. I know about color theory. I can tell the difference between periwinkle and mauve (apparently, not everybody has this ability), I can pull a room together like it's nobody's business—a throw pillow here, a vase with a single flower there, modern art coffee table book (with actual coffee mug stain for authenticity) and bam—the room has been effectively pulled together.

With those aforementioned qualities, including my many others, I give myself a 6; which I think is very accurate. Some of my friends alert me when my “gayness” tips the meter by holding their right arm in front of them parallel to the ground, elbow at a 90 degree angle and rotate the arm up, so that the hand points towards the sky, while saying “Bwooohiup.” I appreciate their concern for my sexual orientation and assure them that I'm steadily trudging along at a 6.

So back to the reason why the black loofah is so important to me. The Eighties-Brawny-Man would never use a loofah—he'd use plain soap, without a textile middle-man. But nothing else lathers the soap quite like a loofah; I don't feel clean unless I use one. So, that I use one starts tipping the gay scale.

Then there's the color issue. I don't know if you've ever tried to purchase a loofah. The colors range from white (which is a pretty safe color to own if you're a man) to fuchsia. Generally, girlish pastels are all that can be purchased. I lucked out once and got a blue one, but I lost it. The only color I could find to replace it was pink.

Now, a pink loofah should definitely raise some eyebrows. I felt nervous every time I used it. I looked around for weeks and couldn't find a more suitable replacement, until that day in Walmart.

I use my black loofah with pride now. I bought a backup just in case—I'll never be caught with a pink loofah again.