Day 18: 30,692 Words

I am not going to waste any time writing an introduction. This doesn't need one. Please enjoy.

The host ushered them into the green room, where they were greeted by a white man in his mid-thirties who introduced himself as Gord. He was wearing a white cable knit sweater, dad jeans, and a red apron that said “Barbeque Dad.” The overall effect was pleasing.

Gord took the group in, clearly aware that he was in the presence of numerous celebrities. Luckily, Gord was a pro. He acted as if he didn’t find anything unusual about the group, and began addressing them.

“Welcome to the Romance Inn. We are so happy to have you here today. I understand that of the team-building packages, you have selected the gold package. We are going to start by  re-creating one of Ms. Romance’s most famous paintings: Christmas Morning.”

He directed the group’s eyes towards the Christmas tree with a flourish.

“But it’s July!” The Rock replied indignantly.

“Christmas is all year round, if you keep it in your heart,” Gord replied, his face not slipping out of the stiff smile he had been wearing since they walked into the room.

“What about people who never keep it in their heart, because they don’t celebrate it?” Vin Diesel said with an obvious tone of annoyance in his voice.

“It’s always Christmas at the Romance Inn,” Gord said, both not answering, and answering, the question at the same time. 

Things were not off to a good start at the Romance Inn.

Gord directed their attention to a painting that was hanging on an easel at the centre of the room. There were five subjects in the painting: two blonde parents sitting on the couch in pyjamas and housecoats, and three children—a son, a daughter, and a baby—in their pyjamas holding presents and stockings. A nativity scene was set up under the Christmas tree, and the room was being heated by a cozy fire. 

They all recoiled in horror as the realization collectively dawned on them that they were to recreate this painting.

“How will this possibly settle any of our feuds?” The Rock roared. He was backing away with his hands in the air. “I don’t think I can pick out a person in this painting that I would like to be the least.”

“Well that’s good,” Gord said, smiling. “Because you don’t get to choose.”

“What?” The Rock yelled, even louder. The woman at the front desk came in and gave him a very disapproving look. 

The Rock did not look chastened at all. 

“I’m not doing any of this,” Vin Diesel said, turning away from the cloying painting. “It’s emasculating.”

“Ah, yes!” Gord said didactically. “Emasculating. That’s precisely why I selected this painting.”

Vin Diesel rolled his eyes dramatically. 

“Listen, Gord,” The Rock thundered. “This isn’t the lesson in toxic masculinity that you think it is. Both of us have been in films where we had to do feminine things. I was in Tooth Fairy, where I played a hockey player that had to be the tooth fairy for a week. And Vin was in The Pacifier, where his Navy SEAL character is assigned to protect and take care of five children.”

“But wasn’t the point,” Gord replied instructively, “that you were both so masculine in those roles of hockey player and Navy SEAL, that even by taking on feminine attributes, you were still considered masculine?”

“And what is so feminine about taking care of five children?” Isla found herself asking, without even thinking about it. 

For the first time since she had met him, The Rock looked humbled. 

“The reason that I handcrafted this tableau,” Gord interrupted, who appeared to be attempting to appropriate the work of Trisha Romance, “was to force you all to go outside of your masculine comfort zones. That, I believe, is the final barrier to you all reconciling with one another.”

A shiver of understanding moved through the collective. Isla, who had been incredibly skeptical of the entire Romance Inn and especially of Gord, realized that this harebrained scheme was just crazy enough to work. 

“You want to be tougher than your opponents. I get that. You don’t want to look like a wimp in your movies, or in life. All of you, except for Richard Gere, have become famous for being big, muscular tough guys.” 

Gord continued, “So, you think that if you forgive one another, you’ll look weak. That if you try to work through your differences, you’ll look weak. I want you to realize that your real opponent isn’t one another. It’s toxic masculinity. It’s toxic masculinity that makes you think that forgiveness is a weakness, when it’s really a strength.”

Richard Gere squinted his eyes and nodded at Gord. The rest of the men looked scared. 

Isla’s mouth dropped open. This wasn’t stupid. It was fucking brilliant. She wondered if anyone would join in if she started slow clapping. She decided against it; this really wasn’t about her. 

“So you’re telling me,” Taylor Kitsch slurred, “that if we wear these 80s pyjamas and housecoats, and sit around like a happy family on Christmas morning, that we will all start to get along?”

“Precisely,” Gord said annoyingly. “By throwing off the shackles of toxic masculinity and a fear of going outside the rigid boundaries of gender, by colouring outside the lines of sex, you can, deconstruct gender itself and highlight the very processes of social construction that make it so entrenched in Western society. By pretending to be a baby holding a candy cane on Christmas morning, you can engage in, dare I say, some gender trouble!”

Needless to say, Isla was delighted. She had the familiar thrilling feeling of being back in a university seminar. The men, however, looked less certain. 

Gord finished his speech with a flourish. “I want you all to take this leap of faith together. If you take off these hypermasculine masks, and be vulnerable, you will be okay.”

“Now that’s fucking team building,” Isla thought to herself.  

“What do you say, fellas?” James van der Beek asked tentatively. “Who’s in?”

The group looked at one another nervously. No one said anything. No one would meet anyone’s gaze. The shackles of masculinity appeared to be tougher to unlock than Gord, Isla, and James had hoped.

Until it happened. 

“I’m in,” The Rock said, stepping forward bravely. “Let’s fucking do this.”

The five other celebrities looked at The Rock, stunned. They looked around at each other. They looked at James, who was nodding and squinting at them.

“I’ll do it,” Vin Diesel said, pumping his fist in the air.

“Me too,” Taylor Kitsch said. 

“And me!” David Boreanaz chimed in. 

“Don’t forget us!” Richard Gere and Sylvester Stallone said, high-fiving. 

“Let’s show Trisha Romance what Christmas Morning really fucking looks like!” The Rock exclaimed triumphantly. 

It was the moment. The moment for a slow clap. Isla started it, and soon everyone joined in.

They were going to do it. They were going to get into some gender trouble.