Shallow at the deep end

I have spent a good part of my life studying The Great Issues. Philosophy, theology, history, psychology. I have five friken' university degrees. I am, as noted in previous posting, a Five, driven to understand The Whole Thing.

(Small devil appears by left ear and asks mockingly, "So, buddy, how's that workin' out for ya'?")

By some measures, I could be considered Deep. But the evidence is not yet all in.

For a couple of years I used to flirt with a waiter, Clark, at one of our local restaurants. He was youngish, slim, blond. Not my usual type at all, but the fella had charisma. Presence. And playfulness. I was pretty sure he was straight, but he was one of those guys who loved any kind of attention and went with it. I was out for dinner one evening with my ex, Thom, and his partner, Hersch. They used to roll their eyes at me about all this. We were waiting by the door to be seated and Clark came over to get us. 

"Hey, guess what? Tonight's my birthday."
"Great, happy birthday. How old are you?"
"Twenty-one."

What written literary conventions do you use to express an unspoken loud shout of "What???!!!"

I could feel Thom and Herschel's eyes on me, even though they continued to stare straight ahead. So I turned to Herschel and said, "You know, I used to be deep." Without missing a beat, he replied, "Yeah. I've heard."

Alright, so I am a little vulnerable to an attractive male. I'm a Five, not a Cyborg.

But, just to show that depth in me is not dead, I had two experiences this week, one on line and one at the gym, of talking with or listening to men who are, by almost any standard, outstandingly attractive: masculine, good looking, great builds. Yet, I found both of them, well, boring. I'd rather be playing with the dog. Handsome is as handsome does, but sometimes it ain't nearly enough.

So maybe there's some little bit of depth at my shallow end.