Dang, I love being gay. It’s so cool. I love it when I hear people say “That’s so gay.” They have no freaking clue. But please … keep saying it people. You are entertaining me to no end.
I’m lucky beyond belief. Recite. OK. It’s like living with your brother and getting to constantly raid his closet for new fashions. The house can get batchelor-dirty, and we both shrug. The front yard looks incredible with hydrangeas, petunias, and begonias; the backyard looks like a blasted cow pasture. Meh ... I'll take care of it later...
It's like that, living with another gay guy. And I do mean guy. I've lived with a couple of fussy queens before. Not so much fun. But I do admit that I love living with this guy.
When we first moved in together, I was a little taken aback. He's former military (Navy) and super-clean and super-industrious. He cleaned like my sister, cooked like my mom and ironed like my Maw-Maw (but all with a bit of a swagger).
One Saturday, I was feeling particularly sluggish, so I announced, "I don't feel like doin' nothin'. "
He immediately replied, "Well. Don't"
I let it sink in. And I didn't do anything but play all day along.
I don't always do that, but occasionally a Saturday of nothing but nothing is incredible!
There are no less than three cards from him on my desk at work: one sappy one, one cute one and one perfect one. I really don't know how he found it. In describing his youth to me, I gathered that he was a similar type of kid as I was: skinny, a bit nerdy, not very sporty, and inherently good. The perfect card shows a couple of young boys: one redhead, one brunette; both dressed in plaid shorts outfits with suspenders and bow-ties standing against a wall. The caption reads: "Some days are hopscotch days; some days are waiting to hit with the dodgeball days."
I know I can handle either with him at my side.