Last night, I went to the Boston MFA museum . . . with a girl. Oooooo. Yes. I am so intelligent and articulate. I wooed her with my impressive grasp on all art forms.
Not really.
She wanted to go because there was a big exhibit of Degas and all of the nude people (mostly women--a lot of which were prostitutes, for real) which he painted or monoprinted or sculpted. I liked some of the work, but many of the pieces were pretty funny . . . a woman scratching her back in a very awkward position . . . a woman bending over at the waist and the view being from straight behind . . . weird looking people in bath tubs . . .
Anyway, I pointed to one of the pictures and a security guard moved in close to me and told me not to point at the paintings.
Not to point? Really?
I should've . . . said "Fine. I won't point." and then proceeded to lean in and lick the painting--which was protected by glass, so, I really wouldn't have licked the actual painting, but it still would have been fun to see the secuity guard faint. He was a shorter, older gentleman, and I am pretty sure he is the fainting type of security guard and not the kick-you-in-the-face or the stun-gun-you-in-the-nuts type of security guard.
No pointing? Really? He probably thought you were making some lewd comment and that was his way of reprimanding you. Sexism! Bigotry! Racism! Outrage! All that.
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