I was sitting in my office this morning trying to forget the revelation I received that Storm and I had . . well . . anyway, I was sitting there nursing a tall glass of cognac when my door banged open. I had been so pre-occupied that I hadn't been scanning the house telepathically and didn't realize that anyone was back from Dazzler's party the night before. The whole house went, I think.

"Professor, we must talk, s'il vous plait," Gambit said in his thick Cajun accent as he strode up to my desk.

"What is it Remy?" I asked half-heatedly, my mind a million miles away.

"Is es these posts on your little diary, that is what."

"It's not a diary, Remy, it's a blog. Like a journal," I explained.

"Zam thing," he replied with a slight air of confusion.

"No. Women keep diaries, men keep journals. Not the same thing at all."

"Agghh! Zis is what I am talking about. Always you wiz ze jabs!"

"What you're talking about? You haven't said anything yet."

"No, not me. Everyone at ze Dazzler's party last night waz talking though. Gaia told me zat you have been zaying on your journal zat I am gay. Me! Gay!"

"Imagine that," I answered with a smirk.

"I am not gay! I love ze women! Cherchez la femme!"

"Well of course you do, Remy. No need to be defensive."

"I zee your little smirk! You don't think it's true! I can prove it to you. I'll go get Rogue and we will do it right here-"

"Now Remy! We will have none of that. This is a school, not a . . a brothel!"

"But we do it all ze time! And I've been wiz many women. Many, many women! I am wiz women all ze time! Hundreds! Thousands!"

"I think you're getting carried away, Remy."

"You can read my mind. Go ahead. You vill see all ze women in there!"

"Remy, I really don't care whether or not you're gay and I don't think anyone else does either."

"But I'm not!"

"Fine. You're not gay. Whatever."

"You don't believe me!"

"No, I don't quite frankly."

"But why on Earth not!?"

"Because I found this in your room -"

"- so tell me, where did this come from?" I asked.

"I, um, one of ze um . . kids . . drew it and . . um . ."

"Right." His face was turning a bright red. I knew I was having too much watching him squirm. It was comforting for some reason to have someone else in the hot seat for once. "Perhaps you were designing new uniforms for the team?" I offered.

"Uh . . oui! That was it! That's what that picture is. Just new uniform design!" Relief oozed out of Gambit.

"Alright, fine. You're safe again. Now please, let me get back to work."

"Alright Professor," he said uncertainly as he headed out. What a team I have. You'd think being a mutant in a world that hates and fears mutants would be enough of a struggle for anyone. Why do they insist in making things that aren't problems, into problems?